


Braided

by missbeizy



Category: Glee
Genre: AU, BDSM, Dom/sub, M/M, Painplay, Punishment, Restraints, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-25
Updated: 2013-02-25
Packaged: 2017-12-03 13:51:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/698949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missbeizy/pseuds/missbeizy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blaine has known that he is a submissive since he was twelve.  He attends Dalton Academy at his mother's request but has little hope of finding what he needs there--a gay dominant.  He is forced to accept Sebastian when he has his first submissive episode in junior year.  And then Kurt Hummel, a dominant, transfers to Dalton and becomes his best friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Braided

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so yeah I am a sucker for this trope. I wanted to write a D/S fic where they are equals (for the purposes of this fic they are the same age and in the same year at school) and I liked the idea of setting it at Dalton, so.
> 
> Sebastian is a dick in this fic. So if you like him you're out of luck.
> 
> Also I got tired of writing Blaine's parents as jerks so they are kind of okay here.
> 
> Again, my D/S fic is not ever really hardcore kink, so no worries in that area.

He's twelve when his mother takes him to the emergency room for his dominant/submissive blood test. The memory is hazy in the way that memories of illness tend to be; larger details fall away, leaving smaller ones in their place. The picture that they paint isn't a complete one, but it's somehow more real for its missing parts; smaller details can be more intimate and give a sense of realism to a memory that otherwise lacks context or comprehension.

He remembers his mother's expensive perfume most of all, up close and cloying in his nostrils because she clutches him against her side the entire way to the hospital. She insists on sitting in the back seat of the car with him while her sister, Blaine's aunt Margaret, drives them. His father is away on business. Cooper is visiting a friend out of state. He doesn't remember much of their conversation later, largely because he doesn't understand it at the time, but snippets of it come back to him when he's older.

"He's been throwing up all afternoon. He's been sickly all summer. I'm not waiting any longer," his mother says.

"Could be the flu, could be puberty," his aunt offers in an effort to calm his mother down.

"I know my son," Christine Anderson replies.

And she's right. 

Blaine's blood test comes back with the submissive marker clear as day in under thirty seconds. They give him the shot to balance the unpleasant symptoms and tie a cheap, hospital-issue leather braid around his neck (gray, because he is not contractually connected to a dominant).

He feels healthy for the first time in a long time, but it's not what he'd wanted it to be. 

Lots of kids his age and even older have parties to celebrate their blood test results. He's always expected something grand, something romantic even, with tastefully done catering and poignant music and friends all around him. He would have wanted his dad to be there. It's a big deal; a rite of passage, whether you come out dominant or submissive. Instead he gets a brisk nurse who ties the braid too tightly and pats him condescendingly on the head.

When his dad comes home he and his mother have a fight that even he can't ignore. 

His mother wants him to go to a private, all boys’ high school; she feels that he's too young to handle submissive feelings and cope with public school social challenges at the same time. The lack of strong policies protecting submissives in public schools has always been a concern of hers. His dad, on the other hand, feels that public school will toughen him up and guide him towards accepting a more realistic view of the world. 

As if being officially labeled a submissive at twelve isn't enough, Blaine already knows that he doesn't like girls the way that some of his friends who are a year or two older than him seem to. Even though they spend most of their time talking about how annoying or gross girls are, Blaine is already perceptive enough to understand that all this means is that his friends are starting to _notice_ girls, and he...he isn't. It's not that he dislikes girls; he is just indifferent to them as anything other than nice-smelling people who he often enjoys talking to.

In the end, his mother wins the argument; she manages to convince his father that Dalton Academy is appropriate for Blaine and will hold him to a higher standard as he proceeds through his education.

The truth is that Blaine doesn't mind the idea of going to a school full of boys, for obvious reasons. He wonders if she knows. His mother has always been his champion, though she rarely overflows with motherly sentiment; it's something that he has always appreciated, her ability to be there for him without smothering him.

 

*

 

Before puberty, his submissive tendencies are mostly centered on being withdrawn. He is prone to letting others guide and teach him, always happiest when taking in information and following play rather than initiating or leading it. 

He spends most of his childhood in rapt awe of his older brother Cooper (a dominant), who encourages him in almost everything (it takes Blaine years to realize that his relationship with Cooper is a lot more complicated than that, but as a child Blaine only understands attention and affection). When Cooper goes off to college, he's heartbroken. It takes months to get him smiling again, and he knows that there is a hole inside of him that will never be filled in quite the same way again.

Not long after that he starts feeling under the weather. It's never severe enough to stay home from school or go to the doctor, though, and he's convinced that it's the result of missing his brother more than anything else.

His father is able to occasionally make him feel better by keeping him busy with chores and projects at home, but Blaine is never sure whether his father is trying to control him or help him.

So he deals with the beginnings of his submissive feelings mostly on his own. Using his middle school primers he teaches himself how to breathe to calm down, how to kneel to calm himself, and how to focus his racing thoughts and feelings of inadequacy into a tight ball inside of himself to better control them. 

He calls Cooper all the time, and hearing his brother's voice over the phone is often all he needs to let go. He can get similar results from his father at times, but there is an edge of discomfort to William Anderson's interaction with his son that somehow lessens the calming effect of his dominant presence.

But all in all it seems—manageable. Blaine doesn't really understand the dramatic portrayals of submissive behavior on TV and in books; he certainly doesn't feel that out of control.

 

*

 

He starts his freshman year at Dalton, polished and ready.

Much more than being surrounded by boys, it's being surrounded by dominants that makes the biggest difference in his day to day life. The exuded air of control and calm is pleasant. It tamps down stirrings of doubt and anxiety. It makes learning easier. 

Though the boarding is strictly separate, for obvious reasons, it's a relief to see the classes split as evenly as possible between dominants and submissives. And overall, the anti-bullying and D/S protection laws in place are more than sufficient to make him feel safe.

Blaine loves his classes and especially loves the Warblers, Dalton's Glee club. He's always loved performing (mostly thanks to Cooper) and the club is led by very kind, encouraging dominants. He makes fast friends with his Warbler brothers and mentors. They assure him that his talent is unique and something to be proud of.

He doesn’t find opportunities to come out or date, sadly; there don't seem to be any other gay students in his social circle, and he feels intensely private about his sexuality.

 

*

 

And then, at the beginning of his junior year, he has his first experience with his submissive hormones acting up, and realizes what he's been missing all this time.

He wakes up in a pool of sweat and feels his world tilt sideways even before he opens his eyes. He feels as if he's been beaten with a bat that hadn't missed a single inch of him. He throws up into the trash can next to his bed. He can't stand because he can't stop shaking, and his roommate has already gone down to breakfast.

The braid around his neck feels like it's choking him. He claws at it and rolls onto his knees, head down against the mattress and fingers twisting in the bed sheets. That helps him to breathe, but not much else. 

He needs—he needs more. He needs a powerful voice telling him to do the things that he needs to do to help himself. He needs the strong, confident touch of hand guiding his neck down and twisting in his hair. He needs a dominant to tie this leather around his neck, to declare him _someone's_.

For the first time he gets hard thinking only of his submissive needs and nothing else, and at that waves of nausea overtake him. Heat pounds at his temples and between his legs, not letting him go. He needs help. There are teachers at the school who are trained to manage these episodes until an appropriate peer can be assigned. He just needs to get to the office and—everything goes black.

He wakes up hours later in the infirmary.

There is a female teacher at his bedside, and he immediately wants to say no, he's—

He realizes that he's never talked about being gay at school, and for the first time he's embarrassed. 

"Blaine?" He stares blearily at her. "Blaine, my name is Mrs. Skok. I'm here to take care of you." Her voice is even and strong. "Look at me, right here." He does. "That's very good. How long have you been feeling ill?"

"Just this morning, I—woke up sick." He feels better just looking at her, but not to the degree that he'd expected.

"That's good," she says, and a nurse comes up beside her and starts checking Blaine over. "We're just going to give you a shot that will help the symptoms, and then we'll talk again when you're feeling better. You're doing wonderfully. I'll be here the whole time."

The nurse examines him, and then gives him a shot that puts him to sleep. When he wakes up they feed him juice and cookies, and Mrs. Skok comes back into the room.

"Well, don't you look better," she says, and god, her voice is so calming; Blaine feels himself immediately relax. "Kneel up on the bed for me, Blaine." Heart pounding, he kneels, sitting back on his heels, palms on his thighs. He looks down at the bed, shaking. "Very good." She sits in a chair beside the bed. "Do you have a significant other, Blaine?"

He shakes his head. "No, ma'am."

"Is there a dominant in your life either here or at home that you'd like to have around you right now?" 

"I, um. You don't mean a relative, do you? Ma'am."

She smiles. "No, I don't. This episode proves that you're no longer a child, Blaine. You need a dominant that you can be intimate with; in an age-appropriate way, of course. I don't think a relative would do for that."

He licks his lips to wet them, then forces out, "I'm—gay, ma'am."

Her face betrays nothing. "Thank you for sharing that with me." She jots something down on the pad that's resting lightly on her skirt-covered knee. "We're going to give you another shot. You may be here for a few days until we can find someone to take care of you. You'll have the option of a more permanent arrangement later, of course, but in the meantime a fellow student will fill in."

He frowns, feeling lost. 

The sick feeling is already coming back, and he has no idea if there are any gay students at Dalton besides himself. He loves his school, but it is mostly full of well to do kids from well to do families, many of which don't approve of "alternate lifestyles", even in this day and age. 

But Blaine wouldn't dream of questioning this teacher; his submissive nature, if not his manners, forbids it. "Yes, ma'am. Thank you."

"We've called your parents to let them know about your first episode. Would you like them to come and spend some time with you?"

"No," he answers. "No, I'm fine on my own. Ma'am. Thank you."

 

*

 

It gets bad in the middle of the night when he's in between shots. He finds himself on his knees (on the floor; the bed is too soft), rocking and panting and unable to even think about the erection tenting his pajamas much less touch it. He can't do that; it's unthinkable now. He listens to his heart pound and just rocks, arms wrapped around himself. It hurts, though he can't pinpoint the source of the pain. It aches, though from where he can't say. He feels like he's coming apart at the seams. He thinks that if Mrs. Skok were to show up right now that he'd lay himself across her feet and sob with gratitude; anything to make this feeling _less_ , anything to make it stop hurting.

On the morning of the third day, they move him from the infirmary to a small, comfortable D/S Interaction room in the dormitory wing.

Mrs. Skok is waiting for him inside. When he sees her shoes come into his line of vision he falls to his knees without a thought. This urge has always been with him, but he's never actually indulged it unconsciously before. The shots have begun to lose their effect, and he's been swimming in a painful, aroused haze for hours.

She stands, back ramrod straight, and floats over to him—at least, that's how it seems. God, how does she move like that, as if gravity has no hold over her?

"Chin up. Eyes on me." He forces his gaze upward. "Stay with me, Blaine. I know that you're uncomfortable. We've found someone to help. We are very fortunate; he just transferred this week and he tells us that he also joined the Warblers this morning. You'll be able to spend a lot of time together."

Oh, god. Blaine's muscles _twitch_. He'd only spoken to Sebastian Smythe for ten minutes at rehearsal on Monday and ten minutes had been more than enough for him to decide that Sebastian was a top of the line jerk; spoiled, wealthy, and far too invested in his dominant status.

"Are you comfortable being alone with him, Blaine? He passed his certification last semester."

Blaine's body cries out. "Yes. Please, ma'am." His voice breaks. What other choice does he have? If they've selected a veritable stranger, they must have exhausted all other options first.

Mrs. Skok walks out into the hallway. He hears voices, and then Sebastian enters the room and closes the door behind him. The noise makes Blaine's heart leap in his chest.

As much as he'd like to deny it, the moment that Sebastian steps toward him tears of relief fill his eyes. His back is to the door, but all it takes is this man's dominant presence to make him _quake_.

Sebastian steps slowly around to Blaine's front. He's wearing a perfectly tailored Dalton uniform, and his legs go on forever. Blaine doesn't dare look higher than Sebastian's knees. He feels unprepared and unworthy in his sweat-soaked pajamas, shaking like a leaf and hard as a rock.

"Blaine Anderson. We met at Warbler's practice."

Blaine shakes, unstable in his longing. He may not have liked what he learned of Sebastian from their brief conversation, but Sebastian's voice is as smooth as silk and his body and demeanor call to Blaine.

"Quiet," Sebastian comments. "I like that. That's very good, Blaine. That's the way I like to start." He uses the tip of a finger to push aside one of Blaine's sweaty curls. "You're a virgin." Blaine had had to tell the nurse that as a part of the physical evaluation. But it's not a question, so he doesn't speak. "I like that, too." He can practically hear Sebastian smirk.

His chest start to jerk with hyperventilation; he's been in Sebastian's presence without contact for too long, and if something doesn't happen soon he's going to start babbling and lose control of himself. The thought makes him want to sink into the floor and disappear. That would be _failure_.

"What would you like your safeword to be?" Sebastian sounds bored.

"Cooper. Sir."

"Ex-boyfriend?"

"N-no, sir. My older brother."

"Kinky." Sebastian grins, sliding his fingers under Blaine's chin and tilting it up. He's attractive in a conventional sort of way, but it's the blazing lust and confidence in his eyes that makes Blaine's cock stand up. He lets out a low, satisfied drawl. "Oh, baby, look at those eyes. That mouth. Those eyelashes. You are stunning. Lucky me, hm?"

Blaine feels tears leak out of the corners of his eyes. The praise makes him want to throw himself at Sebastian's feet. "Thank you, sir."

"I think I'm going to really enjoy this place," he says. 

The drag of his fingertip up and down Blaine's jaw is like fire, sparking and blazing hot. Blaine feels dizzy, so dizzy that he knows he's moments away from passing out again. His cock is throbbing between his legs, and he knows that he won't even need to touch it to come. A word from Sebastian would suffice. Why hasn't Sebastian given him permission? He must know how long Blaine has been sick. They must have told him. Delayed gratification and teasing can come later in spades, for all Blaine cares, but he's about to lose consciousness and his will is fading. Sebastian's purpose here today is to provide emergency relief, not play out a scene.

The truth is, Blaine has always been a perfect submissive; it's at the core of his nature, and he would happily do whatever Sebastian asked of him, but this...seems cruel. One of the first things a submissive learns is that a dominant's greatest attribute is his or her level of empathy.

Sebastian makes him listen to a tedious, pompous auto-biography before finally sitting down in a chair and pausing for breath. Blaine can't remember a thing that Sebastian had said about himself, which isn't something that he's proud of, but he's had to focus all of his efforts on staying upright.

Sebastian watches him, perfectly still and perfectly uninterested. "Oh, alright. Come here. Hands and knees." He doesn't know how he makes his body obey, but the command is like a lash across his back. He moves. He re-assumes the kneeling position in front of Sebastian's feet. "Look at me." Blaine stares into those cool, calm eyes. Sebastian leans forward, brushing his lips feather soft across Blaine's trembling mouth without breaking eye contact. "You may come."

Blaine sobs and thrusts and the scrape of cotton over the head of his cock is enough; he spills so much that he thinks he might actually black out, but it's more than that. The permission, the wait, Sebastian's fingers on his cheek, it all adds up to something so massive that he can't rein it in; it's the culmination of his identity. It's the rest of his life in front of him. 

Sebastian is still staring into his eyes. "Shh," he exhales. "Excellent control. I'm impressed. Now. Let's get you cleaned up and discuss our little arrangement."

Blaine wonders just what he's gotten himself into.

 

*

 

He knows almost immediately that he doesn't want to share every first submissive experience of his life with Sebastian. It's a crushing disappointment. When he'd imagined a beautiful young man walking him through all this, he certainly hadn't conjured up the sarcastic, flippant, easily bored boy that struts his way through the Warblers and makes Blaine feel young and talentless at every possible opportunity.

Equally disappointing is the reality that there just is no one else for Blaine. 

Sebastian is so out there, so confident, that he doesn't hesitate to brag about himself and his relationship with Blaine from day one. Not only is Blaine now stuck with him for perfunctory health reasons, but everyone at school now knows that Blaine is gay and Sebastian is his temporary dominant.

Blaine's parents come for a visiting weekend and Blaine has no choice but to fill them in. They'll hear about it when they discuss his personal record with the Headmaster, anyway; better that it comes from his own mouth first.

"He seems—capable?" his mother says, looking concerned.

"Good family," his father huffs, though he doesn't seem all that impressed.

"He's not my boyfriend," Blaine insists, blushing. He is too grateful that he seems to have been spared actually coming out to worry too much about defending himself. "He's—there was no one else, and he's in the Warblers."

Blaine's father stares at him, hard. "Don't let him mistreat you. I expect you to stand up for yourself."

"Yes, sir."

The truth is that he doesn't have to do anything that he doesn't want to with Sebastian. Even though he loses it completely when they're having their time in the Interaction room—and even though sometimes when they're together his body literally aches for a touch, a command, anything—they don't like each other, and Blaine can't imagine what there might be to like even if he were to give Sebastian a chance.

They don't have sex at all at first, which is—problematic only in that coming in his pants and the occasional permission to touch himself to come just isn't enough as the months go by. His physical needs are met but only barely, and every other need goes ignored. It's like a diet of junk food; he can survive on it, but it makes him feel disgusting and empty along the way.

It also doesn't help matters that as soon as he decides he doesn't want to sleep with Sebastian the boy all but gives up on putting effort into their time together. Their sessions adopt the rhythm of a doctor's appointment, and Blaine's loneliness only grows.

 

*

 

It's just before the holiday break, and Blaine is dragging himself to their Interaction room. They'd skipped it yesterday (and been promptly reprimanded) and he is feeling the backlash of that denial, his entire body aching and tired and rebelling against him. 

If Sebastian would treat him properly as a submissive throughout the day he wouldn't have to wait for Interaction to get his fill, he wouldn't have to _feel_ like this, but Sebastian doesn't, and so Blaine suffers all day and then gives in at night, tuning out his dislike of Sebastian long enough to find release.

He's just _exhausted_. He's probably the only submissive at school with a dominant that is worse off being attached.

The Interaction room is decorated for Christmas already, of course, but on the sideboard there's a dinner laid out. Sebastian is standing, hands behind his back, next to the table and chairs.

Blaine lowers his eyes and slides to his knees on the cushion set by the door.

"Not tonight," Sebastian says. "Stand. Eyes up." His voice is softer than usual. "Look at me." Blaine stares, suddenly nervous. What is this about? "You may speak freely." He motions. "Sit. Eat." Blaine neatly fills a plate and sits at the table. "I've been—rough with you. Dismissive. I thought we might start over. In the spirit of Christmas, and all that."

Blaine chews, using the familiar motions to cover up just how thrown he is. He's shaking, and cold sweat has broken out across his forehead. He doesn't understand, and the image of a contrite Sebastian warm under the candlelight is almost enough to soften him.

"Why now?" he asks. "You—don't even seem to like me."

"I like a challenge," Sebastian says, shrugging. "You're just too well-behaved."

Blaine blushes. "I consider that a compliment."

"Okay. Point. The truth is that I get very cranky when my subs don't want sex."

_I want sex_ , Blaine thinks. _Just not with you_. "We aren't under contract. You can have anyone that you want."

"I've already had every sub boy at this school. There are three, by the by. All heteroflexible." He sips his drink. "And yet the one that I actually have legitimately...I haven't _had_."

"I don't want to be your conquest." The fact that he has to say this just proves what a terrible dominant Sebastian is. 

"Then be my playmate, instead," Sebastian offers, leaning across the table. "Let me show you a thing or two. I'll make it good for you. Mutual satisfaction. What's the harm?"

The request tugs at Blaine's submissive strings, but mostly he just can't imagine going through the rest of his years at Dalton with no dominant at all. "What—what did you have in mind?" Sebastian stares at him, working a napkin over his hands, and his heart races.

 

*

 

The next morning he can't concentrate in class. He keeps feeling phantom twinges in his body where Sebastian had touched and kissed him. It had been—intense, he can't deny that. Sebastian had tied him to the bed and kissed him and stroked him through his clothes until he'd come; his submissive desires had been satisfied by the restraint, and the orgasm had been the most intense one he's ever had.

And yet, that's all that it had been. He hadn't really _felt_ anything. No spark, no ecstasy. He hadn't expected to get emotional, but he had wanted it to be something more than just skin on skin. He'd wanted his first time with a boy to be meaningful, simply because being with a boy at all had been something that he thought might be out of practical reach, at least during high school.

But looking around school that day he is yet again confronted with the reality that there just isn't anyone else. He chats with his friends and takes a test and eats lunch and swims a few laps and studies and—there's no one else. In every class and at every club meeting he thinks _there's no one else_.

If he would be alone anyway, then why not let Sebastian have his way, just a little bit?

So when a few weeks later Sebastian asks, "Let's sign a contract. Until the end of the school year, no pressure. It'll give us more time to have fun together and get the powers that be off of our backs," Blaine shrugs, and says yes.

What else can he do?

He gets his black collar, and nothing really changes.

 

*

 

"Excuse me? Um, hi, can I ask you a question, I'm—I'm new here."

Blaine stares up at a stranger with milky skin and striking blue-green eyes. He's in a hurry to get to the Commons to perform, but those eyes pin him to the floor. "My name is Blaine," he says, automatically, reaching out a polite hand, though instinct tells him to look down. 

"Kurt." Those beautiful eyes are soft but steady on his, and then they drop to his collar, and then dart immediately away. Blaine feels a pang of intense regret, because—there's only one reason why Kurt would have felt guilty about looking at a submissive’s collar. He glances at the braid around Kurt's wrist. "So what exactly is going on?"

"The Warblers. Every now and then they throw an impromptu performance in the senior commons. It tends to shut the school down for a while."

"So, wait; the Glee club here is kind of cool?"

"The Warblers are like, rock stars. Come on; I know a short cut."

God, he—he never would've thought, at a distance, Kurt is so—almost pretty, and his voice is as light as air, and—and if Blaine's being honest, he forgets the rest of the conversation because he's dragging Kurt down an abandoned hallway. 

He has no idea what's gotten into him. He feels like he's been struck by lightning. 

The Warblers perform their number (Blaine finally gets to lead, as Sebastian has other duties this afternoon) and he finds himself just belting it out, laying on the swagger as thick as he can—he wants to impress this new boy and he knows that he can rock the hell out of Teenage Dream.

Dalton is awesome. Dalton will be awesome for Kurt, too, and Blaine wants him to know that, wants him to look back on his first day and say, "There was this crazy guy who sung this song and I just knew Dalton was for me."

Afterward, Wes and David drag the new kid into a conversation and he watches them go, feeling as if his chest has been hollowed out with a dull spoon.

 

*

 

Kurt is in his year and shares many of his classes. It takes them a few days to mutually notice this trend and by then Kurt seems to have settled in nicely. He wears the uniform well, but besides than that there's just something unique about the way he holds himself; he's slender but strong, warm but somehow still seems chiseled out of marble.

Blaine has to talk to him but doesn’t know how. It had been one thing to be drawn into conversation on the stairs; he'd been giddy from that first glance and pumped up about the performance he was about to give and Kurt had started it, but now Blaine is calm and collected and he can't imagine just—going up to Kurt, just like that.

In European history one afternoon, Kurt breaks the stalemate. He passes Blaine a note on his way back to his desk from a bathroom trip.

It reads, "You're going to give yourself a headache tensing up like that."

Blaine bites his lip, heat flooding his body so fast that it leaves him dizzy. Oh, god. He—can't do this. He can't do this, this is insane; he's attached and everyone knows it, including Kurt, so why...?

He writes back, "If you want to copy my notes you only have to ask. No need to be sweet."

Kurt replies, "My notes are totally superior to your notes. Your handwriting is atrocious. Hey. Do something for me?"

Blaine's fingers leave sweat marks on the paper as he writes back, "What?"

Kurt's reply is underlined twice, "Exhale. And smile."

The command flowers inside Blaine's chest like a small, contained explosion. He laughs—gets glared at by the teacher—and smiles, letting all of his breath go in one long rush.

Kurt scribbles on a fresh corner of paper, "Thank you."

Blaine has to kneel in a quiet room for his entire lunch period before he's calm enough to go to class.

 

*

 

It's impossible to not run into Kurt, because Wes and David have adopted him into their dominant clique and into the Warblers. Not only is Kurt amazing at first glance, but he also has the most unique singing voice that Blaine has ever encountered.

Sebastian scoffs. "God, what a piece of work. How the hell boys like that end up doms—"

Blaine twitches and says nothing, then spits later in private, "He's good. We need that kind of talent."

"Watch it," Sebastian snaps, but Blaine _aches_ ; he can't help it. 

The tension in his body since he met Kurt has been horrible; he feels drawn like a moth to a flame and though he knows that he can't help it, that doesn't make it _right_. No matter how awful Sebastian is, the black collar is a promise, and it's an empty one if Blaine just jumps the next dominant that catches his eye.

 

*

 

At some point, Wes and David start bringing Kurt everywhere, and it's inevitable that Blaine will end up spending time alone with him. Blaine allows it to happen and after that they walk the halls together often just the two of them, talking and laughing.

He learns that Kurt has transferred to Dalton because he'd been assaulted by a student at his old public school—he'd always been teased for being a non-stereotypical looking and sounding dominant, but since getting his braid it had gotten a lot worse. It had been difficult for him to leave his Glee club and his friends but he’d had to choose between familiarity and his own safety.

He loves musical theater and cheesecake and has a closet full of amazing clothes and accessories that he's kind of sad about being unable to wear to class, but he promises that he'll show them off for Blaine on the weekend and suddenly Blaine can't stop gushing about his favorite clothing lines and his opinion on the latest trend of mismatching patterns.

As Blaine listens to Kurt talk and watches him move, he becomes completely and utterly enthralled by the quiet air of strength that accompanies every gesture. Kurt has a gentle nature among friends, but Blaine can't stop noticing all of the little things that shout dominance. The way that he moves through a room and people naturally part around him. The way that he handles confrontation with complete fearlessness and is fiercely protective of his friends, to the point of self-sacrifice. The way that he wears the Dalton uniform like armor. Blaine doesn't think that he's ever met a dominant with that much control over himself as such a young age.

 

*

 

"The French verbal assignment—evil or _evil_?" Kurt asks, sitting down next to Blaine during a study period.

"I would have to say evil," Blaine replies, cheeks flushing.

"Be my partner?" Kurt asks.

"Okay," he replies, though he shouldn’t.

Kurt smiles. "Really? I thought I'd have to woo you with coquettish French phrases. I actually prepared a few just in case."

"You are brilliant at French, why would I hesitate? I'm just going to make you do all the work."

Kurt laughs, high and clear and so joyful that it makes Blaine _hurt_. He can feel Kurt's body heat just inches away and can't even bring himself to glance to the left to look at him. His presence is intense; the fact that he's also stunningly beautiful is just _unfair_.

"Do you have some time tonight? We could pick the monarch we want to use and share references."

"Um. I have Interaction with Sebastian but after that I'm free; how is seven o'clock for you?"

Kurt's voice changes, subtly. "That early?" He blinks. "I'm sorry. That was—rude. Seven o'clock is perfect. I'll kick my roommate out for a while. I'm in seventeen-b."

Blaine doesn't let Sebastian come near him that evening; he just begs off, forges their signatures on the sign-in sheet and wanders the halls, heart pounding, mind racing, until their time is up. He makes his way to Kurt's room, straightening his clothes, smoothing his gelled hair down into place, and trying to stop his reactions from being so visible. He's more or less composed when he knocks on the door.

And more or less _not_ when Kurt opens the door and he's wearing jeans and a form-fitting sweater. Blaine's eyes hit the floor so fast that it almost hurts. The uniform goes a long way in concealing differences; seeing Kurt dressed as Kurt wants to dress is like seeing him naked.

The reaction creates an equal and opposite reaction in Kurt, who stands very still, tongue poised on his bottom lip in thought. He doesn't seem perturbed, just surprised. "Look at me," he says, and it's the usual line but it's—not, at the same time. When Blaine does as he's asked, Kurt smiles. "Better?" Blaine nods and walks into the room, clutching his books to his chest. 

He has to stop acting like a lamb going to the slaughter. No matter what he feels for Kurt, he wants to be friends with him more than anything else. He has never felt the potential for friendship so clearly before.

Kurt begins, "I was thinking someone not too famous; everyone's going to do the Sun King, so—" He sits Indian style on the bed, opening their textbook and taking out a copy of the assignment that he has tucked in the pages. He glances at Blaine, who is still standing just inside the doorway and again, there is that subtle shift from attempting to be friendly to dominance that Kurt constantly and effortlessly makes, a slight additional steeliness to his gaze and a stillness about his limbs that screams _control_ to every nerve ending in Blaine's body

Blaine is ashamed; an attached submissive should have no trouble functioning acceptably around dominates that aren't theirs, because their own dominate should be taking care of their needs in private. Being so affected by Kurt is a red flag that announces the embarrassing truth about his relationship with Sebastian without a word being spoken.

Kurt watches him, and then slowly sits at the edge of the bed, feet touching the floor. He's gorgeous in casual clothing, slim and pale, the dark brown of his sweater making his blue-green eyes pop.

Blaine can't kneel. He can't kneel for Kurt. But god, he _wants to_.

Kurt approaches him with a focus that would be intimidating on any other boy. He reaches out with steady fingers and gently, respectfully strokes Blaine's collar. "If we're going to be friends, Blaine, I need you to be able to be comfortable around me." 

Blaine trembles, every nerve in his body screaming at him to prostrate himself—kneeling isn't enough right now. He wants to press his lips to Kurt's feet, he wants to sob devotions, and he wants Kurt's hands to put him where he belongs. He hasn't realized just how broken he is as a submissive until this moment. 

"I—I'm so sorry." Apologizing feels good. "I—I'm embarrassing us both right now."

"No, you're not. You're having a wonderful, natural reaction, and it's beautiful, Blaine. It's beautiful, do you understand? But I can't give you what you need. Not while you're wearing this." He taps the collar. "If I let you kneel without a command, will you be able to work on this assignment with me tonight?"

Blaine lets out a single whimper, and all of his breath, tears hovering in his eyes. He won't let them fall. He won't take this gift that Kurt is offering him and run roughshod over it with disobedience. "Yes, s—Kurt. I think I can."

Kurt smiles like the friend that he has been these past few weeks. "Okay."

 

*

 

Blaine arches his back, breathing fast and harsh through the clench of his teeth as Sebastian's hand works his cock. He's on his knees with Sebastian behind him, wrists pinned to the small of his back by Sebastian's free hand. 

Every time he gets close, Sebastian stops; they're well past their usual time tonight, and—Blaine has to admit, even though it's unusual he doesn't mind. He's needed something to take his mind off of Kurt, and if there is one thing that Sebastian is undeniably good at, it's this.

Sebastian is shirtless but still wearing pants, and his clothed erection grinds against Blaine's back with every forward motion. His chest is smooth and hot, soothing silky warmth against Blaine's skin. He stops yet again and Blaine gasps, creeping farther down into the depths of his own mind, so close to submissive space that he can taste it. He doesn't usually find that with Sebastian, but when he manages to disconnect, to forget who he's with—

It’s like dreaming a beautiful dream while awake; so calm, so perfect. God, he's _so close_.

And then everything gets fuzzy. He never remembers what he says or does when he's down there. When he floats back up again, it's because Sebastian hasn't stopped touching him; he's right there, and Sebastian's lips are behind his ear. He can feel the smug grin. "Mm, that was nice. Welcome back."

His reward is his orgasm, which rips up his spine and seems to last for _minutes_. 

He has no trouble sleeping that night. He can't bring himself to regret his decision to allow limited sexual contact between he and Sebastian; it's the only way that he's going to survive the rest of the year with his dignity intact.

 

*

 

Wes, David, himself, and Kurt are walking from class to class and Wes is explaining the Warblers’ winter bash. "It's unofficial, of course, so we hope that we can count on your discretion."

Kurt grins. "May I request a more detailed itinerary before I commit to this?"

Blaine hangs back, listening quietly.

"I'm not saying that we can hope to match the unbridled wildness of a public school shindig, but," David says, "we crash one of the teacher's lounges and enjoy some libations. It usually devolves into drunken, inappropriate singing contests. Sometimes we can convince a few of the girls from Crawford Country Day to brighten up the room."

"Scandalous," Kurt mock-gasps.

"Consider this your invitation," Wes says. "But it's also a warning: as a newbie you will most likely be challenged."

Kurt grins. "I'll come prepared."

"Excellent," Wes replies.

"Will you wear this for me to the mixer tonight?" Sebastian asks, the afternoon of the party. 

He's chosen a rather flattering pair of black slacks and a red silk dress shirt with a low neckline that will make Blaine's black collar stand out beautifully. Blaine would like to pretend that the gesture doesn't affect him, but Sebastian has excellent taste and he can't help but be flattered; his submissive hormones race with the desire to please.

He's so impressed, in fact, that he asks Sebastian to dress him in the outfit, and that's how he ends up being slowly done up by those confident hands, tingling with arousal as the expensive cloth slides across his sensitive skin. 

Sebastian teases him through his clothes in front of the mirror in his room, pinching his nipples and stroking his cock until he's half-hard, and he lets himself enjoy it for once. He keeps telling himself that this is the way it should be; Sebastian is his dominant and has every right to make him feel this way. Those eyes on him through the mirror's reflection make his head swim; he lets Sebastian guide his head back against his chest, watches as those long fingers define the shape of his erection.

"Come back with me after the party tonight?" Sebastian asks.

Blaine is shocked that it's a question and not a command. He considers. "Can I give you an answer later?"

Sebastian's face tenses, but he nods.

 

*

 

The teacher's lounge has been transformed into a club-like atmosphere that seems completely out of place at first glance. There are only a few lights turned on so it's unusually dark, and there is a small DJ station set up in the corner. There are maybe two dozen people milling around dancing, talking, singing, and drinking.

Blaine walks in with Sebastian's arm around his shoulder. He feels eyes on him as soon as he crosses the threshold; at the last minute Sebastian had sucked a hickey onto his throat and rinsed some of the gel out of his hair, so he looks thoroughly debauched and he knows it. Sebastian wants it to seem as if they are having spectacular sex on a daily basis. There's little that Blaine can do to dispel the notion.

They mingle for a few minutes. Blaine gets them drinks. He sips his sparingly, but Sebastian knocks his back in one swallow. He tells himself that he's waited long enough, and lets his eye wander until he finds the person he's looking for.

Kurt is talking to one of the Crawford girls. He's wearing a fabulously tight pair of mustard colored pants and a black button up. His hair is gelled up into a high sweep. He looks _amazing_.

Sebastian glances at him and rolls his eyes. "Go on." 

Blaine doesn't need to be told twice.

Kurt is near the music station, so he gets a drink first. He only has to step close and Kurt notices him, politely ending his conversation with the brunette he's been talking to and smiling at Blaine. His eyes take in everything; the outfit, the hickey, the collar, and Blaine's blissful expression. 

"Do you party as hard as you pre-party?" he asks, eyes dancing teasingly.

Blaine can still feel the sharp pain that he'd enjoyed when Sebastian had marked him, and he knows that he's filling out his slacks a little more completely because of the memory. It doesn't help that the mark is just below his collar, vivid and new and the first thing that any dominate would notice.

“Sebastian does, that’s for sure,” Blaine says, face burning.

Kurt nods, then shouts over the music, "I keep waiting for the gauntlet to be thrown down." He looks out across the room. "Do you have any idea who it’s going to be?"

He laughs. "I wouldn't worry about it just yet. They'll have to drink a lot more before that starts." He really has no doubt about who is going to challenge Kurt, but it's not his place to start that conversation.

"What do you think?" Kurt motions to himself. "I think next time I'll go a little more gay bar chic. The straight guys here look better prepared for the thumpa thumpa than I am."

Blaine takes the permission to look to the fullest extent, letting his eyes drink in every detail. His mouth goes _dry_. "You look amazing," he says. _And the Queer as Folk reference is winning you so many points_ , he doesn't say.

"You, too," Kurt replies. "Red is definitely your color."

They stare at each other, the silence between them pregnant with unspoken sentiments. Blaine blinks awkwardly. "May I refill your drink?"

"Diet lime coke. I'm hardcore like that," Kurt explains, holding out his red cup with a playful smile. Their fingers brush. Blaine nods to hide his reaction and turns, hurrying across the room.

David tugs his sleeve. "Dance with Kurt," he says quickly against Blaine's ear. "Sebastian just led one of those silly drunk babies into the coat closet."

"I—what?"

"I know you want to, don't even try to lie to me, Anderson."

"I'm—drink. Thanks." He returns with his prize, trying not to think too much about what David had said. Are they really being that obvious? He'd thought that they were pulling off the “just friends” thing pretty well. "Diet lime coke, extra lime."

Kurt smiles. "Thank you." He looks around, and then back at Blaine. "Care to dance?"

Blaine's throat closes up. He nods, nervous as Kurt finishes the soda and puts his cup down. Blaine hastily sets his cup next to it, and shivers from his head to toe when Kurt takes him by the hand and leads him out into the crush of people dancing in the middle of the room.

It's a fast song so Blaine falls into his usual silly dance wiggling, all hips and arms and shoulders, and has Kurt laughing in no time. It turns out that Kurt's a fan of the wiggle, too, or at least he pretends to be to humor Blaine, who can't bring himself to care either way. It's such a relief to know that Kurt is as big of a dork as he is when it comes to these little personal quirks.

They dance two songs and, as a third starts up, Blaine feels Sebastian come up behind him. The taller boy wraps his arms around Blaine's neck, dragging him into an awkward embrace. He smells like alcohol and cologne that isn't his. He stares at Kurt but says to Blaine, "Come here, you."

Blaine stiffens, overwhelmed by the sudden restraint. He's already out of breath from dancing. Sebastian bites at his neck just above the collar and he can't help but gasp. Dancing with Kurt had excited him, and the pressure feels good. Sebastian knows just which buttons to push.

Kurt's eyes go very dark as he watches them. Blaine can feel his gaze on the spot where Sebastian is kissing. He doesn't dare to make eye contact with Kurt. He does see Kurt nod politely, and Sebastian whirls him away into the crowd, one hand sliding down to grip his ass and the other finding his collar. 

He hates that Sebastian is reaching for him because another boy had probably left him unsatisfied, and he hates that he _cares_ about that, because Sebastian is his dominant but not his boyfriend. He knows that can't say yes to Sebastian's invitation to stay the night with him. He just wishes that saying no was easier for him.

Thankfully, Sebastian loses interest in him fairly quickly after that. He wanders off to spend time with his friends and talk to some of the girls who have showed up, and then the singing contests begin. It's all in good fun, and it's especially amusing to watch the dominants go head to head—they always pick the most difficult, out there songs to try and trip each other up.

Blaine—and he is sure the entire room—isn't surprised when Sebastian steps up to the laptop that's the heart of the DJ station and whispers into the ear of the boy behind it. It's just a question of which song.

The velvety twang of Michael Jackson's "Smooth Criminal" fills the room, and Sebastian points to Kurt and then to himself.

Blaine is in love with the song choice, but he can't help but hold his breath as the two dominants face each other in the center of the room. In many ways they're alike—tall, slender, amazing hair. But that's where the list ends. Kurt is all marble and blue-eyed fire; he wields a strength that has been forged in the fires of personal struggle, whereas Sebastian is loose and smug, completely sure of his superiority because he had been born into privilege and been fed that party line every day of his life since.

Blaine is struck still and silent when they begin to duel in song, and with every aggressively swapped line his heart beats faster and faster. They circle each other, get in each other's faces, and no one makes a sound. They are both impressive, but Kurt is—Kurt is _otherworldly_. There's just no other way to describe him.

Kurt is declared the winner by a comfortable margin, but there aren’t any fireworks after—Sebastian is a cranky loser but he shakes hands with Kurt as is customary (he's not likely to act like a bad sport in front of the Warbler counselor members) and the next pair steps up.

When Blaine finally goes to him, Kurt is panting and laughing and he waggles his fingers at Blaine in a happy little wave. "Nailed it," he says, batting his eyelashes.

Blaine grins. "And then some."

"Dance with me again," Kurt says, and it's not really a question—because it doesn't need to be.

Blaine goes willingly, excited when Kurt leads him off to the side of the floor—and then to the small hallway that separates the coat room from the lounge. The music is still loud enough to dance to here. Kurt puts his hands on Blaine's hips, though he maintains a polite distance between their bodies. There's nothing dominant about the touch, and Blaine relaxes and puts his arms around Kurt’s shoulders.

It's been a long night. He's a little sweaty and his hormones keep reasserting themselves, only to slow back down again; Sebastian confuses him in so many ways, and Kurt—Kurt is just—

Staring at his neck. "I've met a lot of subs," Kurt says, sounding far away. "But there's just something about you in that collar. It's—it's so _natural_ on you."

"Th-thank you." Kurt's focus is making him dizzy; he feels the telltale twitch in his back that always comes just before he has the urge to bend or kneel or bow his head. He bites the inside of his cheek forcefully.

Kurt turns them and dances them backward until Blaine is pressed into the wood paneling of the door jamb. His eyes widen. Kurt stares down at him, chest heaving and pupils blown wide. He slides one hand up the wall beside Blaine's head, and then tangles his fingers in the hair at the back of Blaine's head. Blaine closes his eyes. Kurt presses, and Blaine allows his head to be bent low, allows his cheek to be pressed against Kurt's shoulder.

Kurt breathes heavily against his hair and they just stand there, connected at the head and shoulder and hand. At some point Blaine feels all the tension in his body bleed out. He breathes easier, and when his chest begins rising and falling naturally again Kurt relaxes, too, and the hand in Blaine's hair moves, tugging at the scalp just a little.

"Such a good boy," Kurt murmurs in a daze, lips brushing past Blaine's ear.

Blaine shivers, submissive urges ripping through his body. He _twitches_ with them, wanting so badly to kneel because he wants to be better, he wants to be even _more_ for Kurt than just good—

"Please," he begs, throat closed up and eyes wet.

Kurt sucks in a breath and pulls away, not quickly enough to disturb Blaine but just in time to stop this before they do something that they can't take back. Blaine sags when Kurt moves away from him, clutching the wall at his back for support.

"I'm sorry,” Kurt breathes, sounding horrified. “I—excuse me."

Blaine slides down the wall and curls up into a ball, pressing his face to his knees. He knows that he's ruining his lovely silk shirt, but he can't bring himself to care.

Sebastian finds him like this as the party winds down. "Are you coming, then?" He is obviously drunk.

Blaine stares blearily up at him and for one frightening moment feels nothing but defiance. "No," he answers. "Thank you. I'm exhausted. Sir."

"Your loss, Anderson."

 

*

 

"And how is Sebastian?" his mother asks, sliding her arm farther into the crook of his as they walk through the courtyard. 

Blaine tightens his scarf around his throat. "He's a pompous ass, Mom."

She says nothing, but he swears he can see the corner of her mouth twitch up. "Is he taking care of you, at least?"

"He gives me the basics," he answers, and is happy for once to be able to clearly hear the concern in her voice. She's become clingier ever since he went off to board, but he enjoys it now because the distance has given him a reason to miss her, and it's nice in small doses. "I—there's this guy."

"Oh dear," she sighs.

"I know," he says, shifting the direction that they're walking in slightly. His breath plumes out in front of him. "He's a dom. He's unattached. He—I don't know how, but he's become my best friend."

"This is—a first for you." She doesn't really know; Blaine has never shared himself with her very well. Maybe he needs to change that, starting now.

"Yes," he admits, and she tightens her hand on his arm.

"Blaine," she begins, gently. "That collar you wear is more than just a flattering accessory. It's a symbol of the foundation of your entire existence. It's—everything. Respecting it is so important."

"I know," he replies, feeling his heart ache in his chest.

"There are reasons why juvenile contracts aren't allowed to be broken ahead of time save for abuse," she goes on. "It's about teaching young people commitment. It’s about preparing them for adult contracts and, eventually, permanent attachment."

"I understand that." He smiles. "When I'm with him, though—that's when it gets confusing."

 

*

 

A freshman that Kurt has been making friends with at breakfast throws up on his shoes just as they're getting ready to head to the first class of the day. The boy collapses and Kurt is there, reeking shoes and all, one hand on the back of his neck. "Colin? Colin, talk to me."

A crowd gathers around them.

"He's—" someone begins to say.

"I know," Kurt replies, in control so quickly that Blaine's head spins.

Colin moans and clutches the ground, spitting bile. 

"Let it out," Kurt commands. Colin spits up some more and coughs and wheezes and shakes, rocking on his knees. "Very good. That's right." Kurt is subtle about it, but he does twist his fingers almost all the way around Colin's neck and hold him so hard that his knuckles go white. 

Blaine stares; he can't help it. The grip is _beautiful_. It must hurt. It must feel perfect.

"I need you to stand for me. We're going to go to the infirmary. We're going to get you your shot and you'll feel better."

Colin stands, crying, pants tented. Kurt manages somehow to cover the boy's front with his back as they walk out of the dining room, shielding him from the world as much as the embarrassment, and Blaine—

Blaine hides in a bathroom and cries like a child. Only the thought that he should make sure that everything is okay forces him to pull himself together. He goes to the infirmary after washing his face and arrives just as Kurt is leaving, wearing a pair of hospital-issue pants and slippers.

"Is Colin alright?" he asks, looking at Kurt's feet covered in those silly baby blue slippers.

"He's fine. It came on very quickly—that's usually a good thing."

"Did you, um. Did he need...?" He glances quickly up at Kurt, long enough to see the flash of affectionate patience in those beautiful eyes. 

"No," Kurt answers, smiling, clasping his hands together. "He has a girlfriend. A dom. They drove her up here; she's with him now."

"Good, that's—good." Blaine feels his fingers shaking and curls his hands into fists.

Kurt starts to walk down the hall and Blaine follows. "Yours wasn't as easy, I'm guessing?"

He frowns. "It was—well, they told me after that it wasn't the worst they've seen. The main problem was that they couldn't find a gay dom, and then—"

"Sebastian," Kurt breathes. In all the time that they've been friends, Kurt has never really talked badly of Sebastian. Blaine thinks that it's remarkably mature of him, but there are times when he wants to scream at Kurt's composure.

"Sebastian," he answers, neutrally. 

"I need to change and get my books for the afternoon. Come with?"

"Sure." Blaine keeps his back turned while Kurt changes.

"I am so unprepared for Trig today," Kurt says, smoothing his hair with product in front of the mirror. "Did you study?"

"A little last night," Blaine answers, heart pounding.

Kurt slings his bag over his shoulder. "Okay. This is as fabulous as this blazer is ever going to get."

Blaine keeps seeing Colin on the floor in his mind's eye. He feels sick himself, almost as if it had been him on the floor this morning instead. "C-could you—could you hold my hands please?" The words come out on a single, wet, breathy exhale.

Kurt freezes, and then his eyebrows draw together in sympathy. “Come here." Kurt takes his hands and sits next to him on the bed. "I'm so sorry. I had no idea that seeing Colin like that would have such an effect on you."

Blaine feels tears streak down his cheeks. Kurt's fingers lace with his and squeeze, hard and perfect and so understanding. "Seeing him—and you—I just. I wish mine had been different, I wish there had been someone, _anyone_ else. I know that I shouldn't talk about him with you but I just—Kurt. _Kurt_." Just saying the name makes him feel better; it's like an emotional sneeze that keeps on happening.

Kurt transfers both of Blaine's hands to one of his, and then presses his free hand to the back of Blaine's neck, easing his head into a bow. "What else? Tell me."

Tears drip down onto Blaine's neatly pressed slacks, and it feels as if a hole has opened up inside of his chest and everything is just pouring out of it. "I'm lonely and I'm—I should be proud of this collar but all it feels like is emptiness because I hate— _I hate Sebastian_." He twists up, hurting. "I hate him and he—he's all I've got, and sometimes when we're together he makes me—" He sucks in a breath just to be able to continue. "He makes my body feel so—good, and for a while the empty feeling goes away but then he opens his mouth and I can't stand it and—I hate him, Kurt, _I hate him_."

Kurt's fingers slide up the back of his neck and card into his hair. "Okay." He's breathing unevenly. "Blaine. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry that you have to feel all this pain. It isn't fair."

"Please," Blaine cries. "Please, I need—"

Kurt stares at him, lips bitten inward, and then presses his shoulder. "Lie down on your stomach."

They shouldn't. They _can’t_.

They’re going to anyway.

Blaine lies down, and Kurt straddles his waist and lies down on his back, pressing his arms into the pillow above his head. "Kurt," he whimpers, relief flooding him in dizzying waves. It's blinding, like sunlight on water. It's delicious, like heat on fingers that have gone stiff with cold.

"Shh. Shh, just breathe with me. Feel my chest, okay, and just breathe in time with me. In...out—in...out. Yes. Just like that. Good. Good."

He doesn't know how long they stay that way. He only knows that he falls asleep, and when he wakes up Kurt is sitting at his desk, doing what looks like homework. 

Blaine feels—clean. Rested. He looks at Kurt and waits to be noticed.

"I brought you the assignment. Notes, too," Kurt says. "I didn't want to leave you but I had to cover for your absence. Did you wake up at all?"

"No," Blaine replies.

"Good. I didn't want you to wake up alone. How are you feeling?"

"Better. Thank you, Kurt, for earlier, I—"

"Can I walk you back to your room before dinner? I think you should change, freshen up. You'll feel better."

Blaine nods, and they make their way to his room. His roommate is at swim practice, which is good; he can't imagine seeing anyone but Kurt right now. He splashes some water on his face, reapplies his hair gel, and changes his shirt and jacket.

Kurt is sitting on his bed when he comes out of the bathroom. "We can't—we can't do this," Kurt says, looking and sounding very sure of himself, even though his eyes are screaming the opposite.

Blaine swallows heavily. "I know." He takes a deep breath. "I—I'm going to do my best to not let it get that out of hand again." He has to stop skipping Interaction with Sebastian. Maybe then he and Kurt can just be friends again.

 

*

 

Sebastian likes to tie him up. It's easy, quick, and satisfying for them both on a basic level, and it keeps things from getting too intimate.

"I know what's going on," Sebastian hisses, pulling his hair and rocking hard against his back. Blaine is tied to the bed on his stomach and Sebastian has straddled his back. It’s an ironic reflection of the position that’d he’d been in with Kurt just days ago. "I know who you're thinking of when you come to me. Don't think that I don't."

He thrusts, which drives Blaine's hips into the bed. Blaine moans, shaking in the restraints. They're a little too tight and he's been rubbing his naked penis against the bedspread for hours. It hurts. That can be good; tonight, it's just painful.

The wonderful thing about being a submissive is that he's not required to respond unless asked a direct question or given permission to speak freely at the beginning of a session. He doesn't have to rise to Sebastian's baiting tonight because Sebastian _always_ wants his silence and never gives him that permission.

"I see the way you look at each other," Sebastian whispers, sliding his hand between the bed and Blaine's cock, gripping it but only lightly. "Those doe-eyed glances you share while you both sway in the background. Swapping notes in class. Pairing up for assignments. Eating off of each other's lunch trays. Coffee off-campus every other day. Shows on the weekend. Do you think about bending over for him, Blaine? Do you imagine those pale fingers twisting you open?"

He's ashamed of it, but he reacts to this prompting, cock throbbing in Sebastian's hand. "Oh, look at that. My silent little sub's cock speaks for him." He twists his hand, and Blaine gasps. "Maybe it would be alright, huh, if I asked him to join us? You'd like that, wouldn't you? With my permission we could share you. Would you let me fuck you then? If he watched? If he slid his cock into your mouth while I fucked you?"

And on and on, for hours. Blaine is in tears by the end of it, dying for release.

Sebastian growls, finally, "Go on." He brings his palm down and slaps Blaine's buttocks angrily, no warning, and Blaine thrusts down against the bed and comes so hard that he passes out.

Sebastian isn't there when he wakes up, untied and glued to the bedspread by his own come.

 

*

 

Blaine goes home to spend Winter break with his family. Cooper flies in for a week and between that, being away from Sebastian, and his surprisingly present and suddenly very interested parents, Blaine is happier at home than he has ever been.

He eats a ton of fattening food, spends a lot of time outdoors in the brisk weather, and every few days he calls Kurt and they catch up. They exchange text messages constantly and, though he enjoys the fantasy of maybe seeing Kurt over the break, they both decide to just enjoy the time with their families instead and catch up at school.

Cooper teases him a lot but they stay up late on Christmas Eve and Cooper hugs him and they talk seriously about everything and nothing. It's the best Christmas gift Blaine could have ever hoped for; it's the first time that he's felt like an adult around his older brother.

 

*

 

"I have two words for you: fabulous scarves."

Blaine turns around mid-step and feels a grin break out across his face. He throws himself into Kurt's outstretched arms. "Oh my god, I missed you," he exhales.

Kurt holds him, and then carefully puts some distance between them. "Everyone that I know and love bought me scarves this year. I have to show you. I have to _give_ you, because I will never have time to wear them all on the weekends before the cold weather breaks."

They walk arm in arm to Warbler's practice.

"Okay. You have scarves. I have songs. There are a few that I’d like us to try together. I think we should do a duet." They haven't exchanged gifts, and he thinks that scarves and songs work just fine after the fact.

Kurt's look says, _Sebastian will go nuts_ , but all he says is, "Excellent. Let's go pitch ourselves to the men in charge." He winks.

Sebastian does show some pretty obvious displeasure, but Kurt and Blaine's rendition of "Candles" by Hey Monday is a huge success and they're given permission to clean it up and perform it at the next competition.

 

*

 

Having permission to rehearse alone also allows them to spend a lot more time together.

The song is beautiful, but it's not really about them; it's more about the way their voices and emotions play off of each other, because there's no question about how amazing they _sound_ together. Singing with Kurt is so much more emotionally involved than Blaine ever thought it would be.

"We're flat here, just—a little, hold on, let me restart the tape," Kurt says one afternoon while they're using their study period to rehearse. Blaine takes a swig of warm, honeyed tea and nods, letting his voice rest. "Lost sight—see, there. Lo-ost si-ight, again—and nothing but your so-orries—again."

And again and again. They are serious about getting this right.

"I am not the jaded kind, playback's such a waste."

"You're invisible, invisible to me—"

They move, just vaguely mimicking the simple choreography that they've started to map out. "Better," Kurt says. "The tempo is—it could be better, but I love this song." He smiles. "I love that you chose it."

"There's always the next duet," Blaine says, smiling a bit bashfully—and is interrupted before he can continue when Kurt reaches out for him and swings him around in a slow dancing motion.

"I love singing with you," Kurt says. "You are so incredibly talented, Blaine. You need to step up in practice more. You're so much better than Sebastian. Everyone knows it."

"He—he can be unfair, when it comes to me, it's true."

"That's putting it mildly." Kurt is still holding him, even though they aren't moving anymore.

The afternoon sun never hits this side of the building, so Kurt is oddly pale in the gray dimness of the room, and Blaine can't take his eyes off of him. He looks down as soon as Kurt begins to stare back and, blushing, steps away to restart the music.

 

*

 

Regionals doesn't go their way, but the duet had been amazing—everyone is talking about it when they get back to school. Somehow they never really feel the sting of losing the competition.

It helps that Blaine is suddenly being offered leads and solos—and that Kurt is there beside him, encouraging him every time that he loses faith in himself.

 

*

 

The Dalton spring mixer is actually an official event, and a very popular one at that. 

The hall is impressively decorated. The music could use some work, but Blaine gives it an hour before someone subtly hijacks the DJ table. 

The lights dim when the dancing starts and he inserts himself into a circle of his friends and allows himself to relax, leading them in several half-choreographed dances and getting claps on the back and grins in return.

Kurt is across the way hanging out with some kids from their French class, but Blaine is content to watch him from afar for now; he looks stunning in a simple pair of black dress slacks and a dress shirt and a slender, purple tie. As a nod to informality, his cuffs are rolled up to his elbows and he’s wearing what looks like a repurposed marshmallow Peep candy as a broach.

Sometimes it seems like they always play this game in public now, seeing how long they can go without finding each other in a crowd. Blaine likes it, the way that the anticipation builds, the way that he sees Kurt but doesn't have to interact right away. He likes how the distance gives him implicit permission to stare. He likes thinking about what he'll say. He likes that no matter how many times they see each other, Kurt still lights up like a Christmas tree and de-ages about ten years every time.

When they finally do get together by the punch bowl, Kurt gushes, "I love your bow tie."

It's a black bow tie covered in small, cartoon-style bluebirds. He touches it self-consciously, smiling. "Thanks. I love your Peep." He pauses, nervous. "You also, um, look great in general." He gulps some punch. "Have you taken a spin with the boys yet?" He glances back at the Warblers; one of them is break-dancing in the center of their circle.

Kurt laughs, revealing imperfect teeth behind a brilliant smile. "Um, I think I might wait until they go with something a little less likely to damage my clothing."

Blaine smiles. "Very wise." He looks down and shifts his shoulders shyly. "Um, would you like to dance?" The music changes over from a fast-paced song to a slow one just as the words come out of his mouth.

Kurt stares into his eyes. "I'd love to."

Oh. He hadn't meant for it to be—but the music—and it's too late to change his mind now. "Take My Breath Away," he laughs as Kurt leads him out onto the dance floor. "God, this music is—"

"I think their playlist stops at around nineteen eighty six, yes," Kurt agrees, grinning. "Not that there's anything wrong with that—but it could use a little variety." Kurt's hands slide around the middle of his back. Blaine shivers and crosses his wrists around the back of Kurt's neck. The fact that he has to stand taller to do so makes him shake a little. 

Kurt's cheek tucks against his, warm and freshly shaved. He exhales slowly to prevent the whimper that forms in his throat from escaping, and presses his cheek to Kurt's. Peace settles over him like a blanket, and Kurt begins to lead.

Blaine can't remember ever feeling so physically safe and content while at the same time literally vibrating with arousal. He knows that Kurt can feel it, and Kurt knows that he knows, and the responding rush of hormones brings him to rapt, almost painful attention.

Kurt slides his fingers up through the hair at the back of Blaine's neck. His breath is warm and humid against Blaine's ear. "So perfect. So good." He sounds _wrecked_. "You take my breath away," he sighs, then laughs as the song parrots the words back.

Blaine's fingers twist in the collar of Kurt's shirt. " _Kurt_ —"

"Really, Hummel?" sounds an angry voice behind them. The noise of the music changing over keeps the words between the three of them, so the attention this draws is limited, thankfully.

"We're only—" Kurt begins, stiffening. He actually clings to Blaine for a moment, and the gesture sends a flash of possessive _want_ through Blaine's body.

Sebastian grabs Blaine by the scruff of his neck and pulls him away from Kurt. "You might as well be fucking and you know it." Blaine feels panic slice through his body. "Down. Now."

He can't stop himself; he drops immediately to his knees. When that isn't enough to take the edge off of the feelings slamming through him, he presses his face to Sebastian's shoes.

"Don't do this, not here," Kurt says, voice like steel.

"Don't you dare tell me how to discipline my own sub," Sebastian growls, low and careful.

"It was just dancing, Sebastian."

It doesn't matter what Kurt says; Blaine can feel Sebastian reach for the short, stiff cane that he wears on his hip at public events. It's an old-fashioned thing to do, but he comes from an old school family. Blaine stiffens, horrified but still; he would never run from a punishment, and he knows in his heart that he deserves this one. He wishes that half the school wasn’t watching, but public punishment (usually just a slap on the backside) isn't unusual at Dalton and mostly everyone looks away politely.

He does nothing as Sebastian pulls down his pants and underwear and gives him three sharp, hard raps of the cane across his buttocks. His eyes fill with tears; all he can see is Sebastian's shoes and the floor, and other pairs of legs milling around them. When it's over, he presses his forehead to the cool wooden floor. He's hard in his pants and it's distracting but not precisely pleasurable. He just lies there, throbbing, until Sebastian steps back.

"Get up. Go to your dormitory and stay there. Your punishment is complete."

Blaine doesn't even glance sideways as he flees the hall. 

Sebastian hadn't given him any punishment follow-up instructions, so he lets himself lie flat on his stomach on his bed and just close his eyes. He tries to forget. The burn of the cane marks keeps him hard, but he does nothing about it. He has never really been able to touch himself without permission, and this time is no different.

More than anything, he's just disappointed that he's going to miss the rest of the party; he would have had a great time with his friends, Kurt especially, if he'd been able to stay. It's his own stupid fault for allowing the dance to become that intimate—and then he thinks of the dance again, and that if he had to miss the party, at least he'd been able to enjoy that with Kurt first. 

He thinks about being in Kurt's arms, the way it had felt to be held, to be cradled as if he were something precious, the way that Kurt's soft touches and sweet praise had aroused him more than any bold or filthy thing that Sebastian has ever done or said to him. He thinks about the way that Kurt had been so firm and tall and masculine against him; his wide shoulders and strong arms and the way he'd smelled.

Blaine moans, pressing his hips into the mattress. He can't help it, and even though he knows that he shouldn't he still does it, spreading his thighs and rocking the swollen head of his erection against the material of his underwear.

Kurt's fingers in his hair, Kurt's hands on his back and neck—

He's too close. He stops, gasping, muscles trembling with the effort.

Not long after, there's a knock at the door. He tenses up; Sebastian come to claim the remainder of what he feels is owed to him, Blaine guesses. His heart speeds up. Lying here alone has made him anxious and a part of him almost wouldn't mind if it _were_ Sebastian. 

"Blaine? Are you awake?"

It's Kurt.

Blaine breathes frantically through his nose. "Y-yes."

"Can I come in?"

"It's unlocked." Sebastian would've been furious if Blaine had locked the door, had he actually come looking and found it that way.

Kurt slides into the room, closes the door and locks it. Blaine doesn't move. He can't. The only natural state he knows right now is perfect stillness, face buried in his pillow, and not even Kurt can change that; not without a command.

Kurt's voice comes from the end of the bed, "This is my fault. I knew he'd see us, and I—I kept on encouraging you anyway." He moves closer, and then sits on the bed. "I brought ointment. I figured that it's the least I could do." He sets a jar down on the nightstand, but doesn't move to open it. "Please talk to me."

"I'm—fine," Blaine says, into the pillow. "Please don't blame yourself." _Please don't come near me. Please don't touch me because if you do I'll die_. He tries to focus on little things; the firm support of the bed beneath him, his phone buzzing in his pocket (most likely Warblers checking on him to see if he's alright), the hunger gnawing at his belly because he hadn't eaten at the mixer.

And then Kurt says, dreamily into the silence, "If he hadn't stopped us—" Blaine's throat closes up and he presses harder into the bed, trying to become smaller, invisible. Kurt's hand comes down softly on his hair. "Blaine, look at me."

Shaking, he looks at Kurt, cheek still on the pillow. He knows that his eyes are red and his face puffy from crying, but Kurt looks at him as if the miracle of creation is written across his features.

Kurt slowly lies down next to Blaine, one trembling hand reaching out to cup Blaine's jaw; his other hand mirrors the gesture on the opposite side, separating Blaine's cheek from the pillow, lifting his face off of it. Kurt's eyes are swimming with tears. Blaine watches, enthralled, as the light catches, glints prettily off of them, and then—

Kurt kisses him. And kisses him again, lips trembling. And again, full of shaky breath, and again when Blaine whimpers and kisses him back. And again, digging his fingers into Blaine's hair gel. And again, twisting their bodies closer on the bed.

Blaine is the first to pull away; he lets out a low sob, turning his face against Kurt's chest. Kurt's arms come around him and rock him until he stops crying. He can still feel Kurt's lips on his; his whole body is tingling from the contact.

Kurt's fingertips trace the outline of his collar. "What am I doing?” he whispers.

“Giving me what I need,” Blaine answers, eyes wide and wet.

Kurt's eyes search Blaine's face, and then he seems to make up his mind. "Lie on your back.”

The pressure makes his backside throb. Kurt straddles his waist and gently lifts his arms, spreading them out above his head. He holds Blaine's wrists to the pillows, and bends down and kisses him again. Blaine moans, arching upward. Kurt watches his face and rocks down into him. Blaine's eyes slide shut from the sensation. The bed squeaks as Kurt continues moving them together, as they breathe heavily into each other's mouths.

Gradually he feels the outline of Kurt's erection growing against his, and it excites him so much that he has to force himself to stop moving or he's going to come in his pants. He can't think with Kurt on top of him, and the addition of mutual arousal only muddies the waters further. Sebastian rubs off on him all the time, but he's never actually touched Sebastian without his clothes on. He's never actually _wanted_ to touch back, and now he does.

"You've been so patient," Kurt breathes across his mouth. Blaine whimpers. Kurt's fingers press his wrists harder into the bed. His tongue gently parts Blaine's lips, tasting and then drawing back. Blaine can feel him shiver. He must know how close Blaine is, must know that the friction of the bed against the cane marks is driving Blaine insane. Blaine has never had an encounter without pre-set rules before, and he has no idea what Kurt wants from him.

"P-please," he whimpers, taking the risk of vocalizing, feeling his cock smearing wetly against his underwear as Kurt presses into it again and again and again.

"Please what, sweetheart?" 

Blaine twists. "Please may I come?"

Kurt's eyes flutter with pleasure. "Yes. Yes. Whenever you want to. Tonight, you can have whatever you want, do you understand?"

Blaine closes his eyes, tears tracking down his face as he tips his pelvis up and—the permission is all he needs. His cock throbs and lifts and his balls tighten and he comes in his underwear, pulse after pulse of thick semen soaking the cotton. His ears are ringing. His body literally melts into the bed, but at the same time he feels as if it could just as easily be carried away on a breeze. He laughs, it's that joyous; and Kurt's lips are on his jaw, stretched into a huge smile. 

"Beautiful," Kurt whispers, kissing him.

Blaine's chest is so full of contentment that he doesn't even hesitate when he asks, "May I touch you? I—however you want me to."

"How far have you gone with Sebastian?" 

Direct questions are good; answering those makes Blaine feel more comfortable. "He—he's made me come with his hands and his mouth. Sometimes we'll—do what we just did and we'll both come. Clothes on."

Kurt's face is largely unreadable. "Tonight, I just want to take care of you. Will you let me do that?"

"Yes, Kurt."

Kurt goes into the bathroom and comes back with a damp and a dry cloth. He gently removes Blaine's pants and underwear and cleans his skin of sticky release. Blaine watches, eyes wide and soft, stirrings of arousal bringing him up half-hard again, but all Kurt does it clean around his shaft. The innocent touches make Blaine's heart race. Kurt turns him over and cleans the raised cane marks on his buttocks, then applies the ointment; it feels wonderful. He slides a clean pair of underwear up Blaine's legs. He takes off Blaine's shirt, undershirt, and tie and hangs them neatly in his wardrobe.

Blaine swims in and out of sleep toward the end, waking up only when Kurt slides into bed next to him and begins gently stroking his hair. "I'd like to stay until you fall asleep," Kurt says, stroking circles on the back of Blaine's neck. "But after that I have to go. Your roommate will be back soon. It's late."

Blaine falls asleep halfway through a nod.

 

*

 

It doesn't happen right away.

He denies even to himself that he's waiting—which, of course, he is—and naturally it happens when he stops thinking about it, because that's just the way that life works.

He passes Kurt in the hallway. Kurt has his books against his chest and his chin held high and he sees Blaine coming from far away. Blaine smiles at him and Kurt just sort of stares back, flashing him a hot look that makes the hair on the back of Blaine's neck stand up and the urge to bend low to the ground tear down his spine.

Kurt actually turns to continue looking at him even after they walk past each other, eye line never wavering. Blaine can't help but do the same, walking backwards like an idiot into other people to maintain eye contact. Everything in the hallway disappears but Kurt and the ever-widening space between them.

Seated in his next class, still flushed and dizzy, Blaine gets a text message. He goes to the bathroom to read it (he'd have his phone confiscated for the rest of the semester if he were caught reading texts in class) and it's from Kurt.

_interaction room 8b... study period, today?_

He wonders how in the world Kurt has managed to book an Interaction room without having an official sub, but he isn't going to question it, at least not yet.

_yes_ , is all he replies. After that, he deletes the message.

He spends the rest of the day in a submissive hormone haze, twitching at noises, short of breath, and feeling his cock throb with interest at every passing dominant. 

Finally, it's time. He leaves his jacket in his room along with his books and goes to the Interaction wing. The hallway is empty, so he enters goes inside. He's early. He kneels on the kneeling pillow beside the bed and does a few breathing exercises to calm down.

Kurt arrives exactly on time also wearing just his shirt, tie, and slacks. His wide shoulders and exposed, sculpted neck in that shirt do things to Blaine that a simple glimpse of skin and muscle shouldn't be able to do. He looks down, pulse fluttering wildly. Kurt is _so perfect_.

"If you don't touch me right now I think might scream," Kurt exhales, rituals be damned.

That is all Blaine needs. He's off his feet and in Kurt's arms in an instant. Kurt grabs him by the face and squeezes his jaw and kisses him and it's nothing like their first. It's hard and hungry and Kurt pushes him against the door and slams their hips together and licks his way inside of Blaine's mouth.

"Don't hold back for me," he pants against Blaine's throat, licking and sucking. "Just want to make you feel good, okay?" He bites the base of Blaine's throat. "What's your safeword?"

"Cooper," Blaine replies, gasping for air; his head rolls back against the door as Kurt switches sides, attacking the other side of his neck.

"Cooper," Kurt echoes, panting. "Okay." He stops and takes a deep breath. "When it's like this, Blaine, you—don't have to wait for a command from me, okay? You can do whatever feels natural, and you can rely on me to push you back on track if you take a wrong turn." He thumbs Blaine's jaw, and kisses him. "I—I’ve never had a sub of my own, but—well, they say it only takes the right one to—to make it happen."

Kurt looks so breathless and beautiful and young that Blaine feels his body go rigid with devotion. This is what it should have always been like. This is what he'd missed out on, having a self-absorbed brat for his first dominant. He wonders if it will be so easy to unlearn everything that Sebastian has taught him. He wonders how long it will take to see things the way that Kurt sees them.

"I understand," he answers, softly. "I would—be comfortable with you just telling me where you'd like me?"

Kurt’s eyes go kind of funny and he dampens his lips with the tip of his tongue. "The chair, Blaine. Take off your tie and sit in the chair." Kurt takes the tie from his trembling hands. He sits back in the leather armchair, never taking his eyes off of Kurt's knees.

"Blaine," Kurt says, and Blaine looks up, mouth going dry at the sight of Kurt taking off his own tie with slow, careful motions of his long fingers. "I don't want you to look down while we're like this. You have the most beautiful, expressive eyes. I want to see them, always." He has the two Dalton ties in hand now, and he steps in between Blaine's knees. "I'm going to tie your hands to the chair, okay?"

Blaine's heart races. He nods, frantically, as Kurt's perfect hands tie his wrists to the rings built onto the armrests of the chair just for that purpose. The blue and red ties are stark against his olive-toned skin. The knots that Kurt makes are neat and tight.

Kurt kneels between his legs, and his body sort of jerks at the unexpected reality of having a dominant below him physically. "Shh," Kurt breathes, flattening his palms up and down Blaine's thighs. "Do you need me to tie your ankles, too?"

"Yes," Blaine gasps. He can't cope with the position swap; it's too much. "Please, sir."

"Kurt," Kurt corrects him, voice firm. "In here I'm just Kurt to you. Okay?"

"K-Kurt."

Kurt takes a pair of scarves from his bag and uses them to tie Blaine's ankles to the ankle rings set on the bottom of the chair. Blaine sinks back into the plush leather, feeling better. Seeing Kurt there between his knees is easier now that Kurt has taken away his mobility. Kurt is in control and he is not and that is the way it should be.

"Eyes on me, remember." Kurt's hands are everywhere, petting his arms and chest and stomach and thighs, as one might calm a nervous horse. "I want your noises, but no words for now, okay? Confirm that you understand that command and then no more words."

"Yes, Kurt. I understand."

Kurt stares at him, eyes sparkling, so obviously _proud_ that it makes his breath catch. "Good boy."

He whimpers. Kurt's hands settle on his thighs again, and then slowly circle closer and closer to his groin. He's already fully erect but Kurt doesn't rush to get there, just continues petting him, firmly but patiently. And then he leans over, eyes on his, and kisses Blaine's knee.

Oh. Oh, _oh_ —

He kisses slowly, deliberately up the inseam of Blaine's slacks. Blaine trembles so hard that it jostles the knots holding him in place against the metal rings that they are wrapped around.

"Breathe," Kurt whispers, so close to the hot ache between his legs that he can't hold back the moan that comes tumbling out. The tip of Kurt's nose trails softly down the bulge at the front of his slacks, followed by the softest brush of his mouth. It's barely there, but it's enough to bring Blaine off of the cushions. "Stay still, sweetie." Blaine freezes. "Mm, better," Kurt hums, and bites softly at him. Through cloth his teeth just feel like a squeeze and Blaine sobs, twisting in place but staying down. His wrists and ankles rebel against the knots.

"The first time I saw you," Kurt says, breath coming hot against Blaine's clothed erection, "the very first moment, I wanted you. There were dozens of people on that staircase that I could've asked what I asked you. But I waited. I waited and then I saw you and I knew—I had to have those eyes on mine. I had to feel that skin. I had to hear those breathless noises that you'd make when you _needed_ it—" Very much the ones that Blaine is making right now. "And then I saw your collar and—god, it hurt, it hurt to be denied, for a dom to be denied like that, Blaine, it's— _torture_."

Blaine whimpers; Kurt's fingers gently undo the button on his pants, and then ease down the zipper. His cock throbs for lack of room to unfold. Kurt's fingers rub over him, following the same teasing paths that his mouth had taken.

" _Oh_ ," Blaine whines.

Kurt noses at the wet spot that stains the front of Blaine's underwear. He utters a low, growly noise and then sucks the cloth into his mouth. Blaine has to disconnect a little at this point, or else he's going to come in his underwear and he refuses to do that. He floats along atop the mindless sexual high that Kurt is giving him, chest hitching with uneven breath and fingers and toes flexing hard.

Kurt starts kissing at his bulge, encouraging it to fill the space it has, and before long Blaine's cock is straight up against the waistband of his underwear and Kurt's lips are sucking at the head through the cloth.

"You keep making more for me to taste, so this is your own fault," he drawls, grinning, tonguing the pre-come, and Blaine cries out, digging his fingertips into the leather. "I'm going to slow down, okay? Let's see how far we can go."

And all Blaine can do is nod desperately. Kurt goes back to rubbing his thighs for a while, then his wrists and ankles to make sure that the blood flow is okay. It's soothing, and Blaine's erection ebbs just enough to make everything feel less urgent.

When Kurt goes to remove his pants and underwear, he gratefully shifts to accommodate. They pool around his ankles, and Kurt watches his cock rise flush against his dress shirt. The head leaves wet smears on the fabric. Blaine can't bring himself to care. He can't _breathe_. Kurt pushes his legs apart just far enough so that his balls fall neatly between them.

"Comfortable?" Kurt asks. Blaine watches the pulse at Kurt's throat pound wildly. He nods, enthralled. "Eyes on me." Kurt bows his head and brushes his lips over the head of Blaine's cock. Blaine seizes up, gasping. "No words. Not yet." He sucks under the head with his lips, then laps at it with his tongue. 

Blaine's mouth drops open; his throat cords up, and he can feel sweat drip down his neck and chest to stain his shirt. Kurt's mouth closes around him, and it takes everything he has in him to not come from the pressure. He's never—ever—been this aroused, never had to actively fight his body like this. The wet, hungry sucking noises that Kurt's making as his head bobs up and down, mouth swirling hot and slick around Blaine's cock, aren't helping. Blaine frantically squirms in the chair.

Kurt lifts his head from Blaine's lap; his lips are wet and swollen, his cheeks flushed red. Blaine wants to cry; it's the most erotic thing that he's ever seen and he's going to come the next time Kurt touches him and he won't be able to stop it—

Kurt closes his fist around Blaine and jerks him. "Give me ten strokes, Blaine. Ten, and you can talk."

By the end of ten strokes Blaine can feel sweat pouring down his body. His toes are curled and his balls as tight as a drum and he's going to pass out if he doesn't come.

"Good boy, that's right—tell me what you want, now."

"Please," he whines. "Please let me come it hurts—"

"Do you want my hand?" Kurt stares at him, and god, his cherry-rimmed friction-painted mouth, all from sucking Blaine's cock. Those swollen lips. That sweet pink tongue that had traced every inch of him. It licks across the slit of Blaine's swollen cock, now, lapping up white drops. "Or my mouth? Make a choice and you can come, honey."

"Mouth, please, please—"

"Mm," Kurt hums, taking Blaine in again and sucking, hard. He feels Kurt jerk instinctively when he comes in his mouth, spurt after spurt after spurt. It had felt like being ripped apart, and he must have been loud because he throat actually hurts.

He collapses in a pile of sweat and damp clothing, every muscle in his body going lax. He twitches brokenly; Kurt had swallowed every drop of him, and that beautiful tongue is still licking him clean.

Kurt stays there when he's finished, chin on Blaine's knee, and doesn't say a word. The gentle, contented smile on his face says it all.

 

*

 

Finding time together is difficult. The Interaction room trick had apparently been a one time thing, so they spend a lot of time frantically making out in closets and bathrooms and their rooms when their roommates miraculously disappear for short periods of time. This doesn't take into consideration schoolwork, extra curricular obligations, other friends, family visits, and trying to keep the Warblers enthused now that their competition season is over.

And as the weeks pass, the weight of keeping their relationship a secret, and the looming consequences that would result if that secret got out, start to weigh heavily on Blaine. Breaking a contract is not something that private schools take lightly. If the transgression is proven, it goes on your permanent record for any and all college application boards to see. It's a black mark on your personal integrity, as well, and can be socially damning.

Blaine remembers the conversation that he'd had with his mother and feels guilty; she cares about the integrity of his collar and he hates disappointing her, but it's only a few months more and he never has to speak to Sebastian again.

It'll all be worth it then.

 

*

 

"What I'd like to know is, how did you manage to bribe them all so specifically? Rehearsal for the Warblers is like church for believers," he babbles, incoherently so, as Kurt's mouth is moving below his ear and he can't focus on words.

"Wes owed me a favor," Kurt murmurs, nibbling at Blaine's earlobe. "I told him I needed some solo rehearsal time. This room does have great acoustics."

"Devious," Blaine sighs, relaxing completely in Kurt's arms. They're curled up on a leather sofa, eternally grateful for the old-fashioned locks on all the doors at Dalton.

Kurt drags Blaine into his lap, running one hand up the back of his shirt and stroking across his skin. Blaine wraps his arms around Kurt's neck and lets himself be kissed wet and open and silly. It's raining outside and the room is not lit, so they are surrounded by gray filtered light and the patter of rain, and it's warm and safe between them, and Blaine sighs into every kiss.

Kurt's hand gently takes one of his and guides it between them. "Touch me?"

"Oh, yes, please." Kurt's hand cups Blaine's over his burgeoning erection. Blaine thrills at the way he feels, firm and warm and masculine. But more than that, the idea of pleasing Kurt, of giving him even a fraction of what Kurt has given him so far, makes him feel almost drunk with giddiness.

He scoots back in Kurt's lap so that he has room to undo Kurt's pants and then wrap his fingers around Kurt's erection. It's beautiful; long and lovely and pink. 

"I haven't—done this to another boy, so—please—"

"Shh," Kurt whispers, kissing him. "I know." He kisses Blaine again, encouraging him to continue, and they stay that way, Blaine's hand moving between their bodies, their mouths exchanging light kisses. Eventually, Kurt stops kissing him and just pants against his cheek, hips rocking in a slow thrust, driving his cock in and out of Blaine's fist. He gets so hot that Blaine has to tilt his head away just to breathe cool air, and then he starts to tremble.

"Blaine," he moans. "Talk to me."

"Feel so good in my hand," Blaine spits, gasping. "Throbbing, hot—god, Kurt, I—want you to come all over me. Wanna lick it off your skin. Will you let me? Let me taste it?" He can feel the urgency build between them and his starts jerking faster, his fist a blur around Kurt's cock.

Kurt growls and thrusts and comes, spilling everywhere; all over Blaine's fist, their shirts and pants, and even a little on the leather of the sofa.

Panting, he asks, "Did you mean that?"

Blaine, eyes afire, replies, "Yes," and proceeds to lap the come off of everything—Kurt's clothing, his own hand, even the sofa. Kurt watches him, eyes dark—and stays half-hard; Blaine looks up at him from below his eyelashes. "More?" Kurt groans and thrusts a hand into Blaine's hair, pushing his head down; Blaine doesn't require any further direction to wrap his lips around Kurt's cock and suck, drawing out a few weak dribbles. The flavor is earthy, salty and sharp. He licks his lips when it's over, and Kurt is staring at him.

He blushes, eyes sliding sideways, and Kurt catches his chin with one hand and kisses him. "You're amazing. Thank you."

 

*

 

"My roommate's father is getting remarried this weekend," Blaine says into his phone. "He just told me today. He's going to be gone the entire weekend."

"Crap," Kurt replies. "I was supposed to go home this weekend, too. Let me—can I call you back?" He does, fifteen minutes later. "Hey. I told my dad to make it just a Sunday thing. So, Saturday is a go?"

Blaine has homework and half a dozen other things that need doing, but there is no way that he's going to miss out on the chance to have Kurt to himself for an entire day. "Definitely." He's alone, but he still pauses and looks around, then lowers his voice. "How, um, how would you like...?"

Kurt's breath comes a little faster into the phone. "Just underwear. In bed, on your back. Knees bent, feet flat on the bed. Just that, okay? No restraints. I'll supply everything else."

"Yes—that's. Yes."

He wakes up so early that Saturday that it's almost comical. He showers until his skin hurts from scrubbing, and pointedly does not even consider touching himself in any way, not even to tease. He uses a cleaning product that he never thought he'd have cause to use while at school and it's probably the weirdest act of personal hygiene that he's ever committed, but he feels prepared, at least, when it's done. He's—been researching various things, and he thinks that he has some idea now of what to expect. They do cover a lot of the more medicinal aspects of sex in D/S ed, so it's not as if he's clueless.

And that's all well and good, but ten o'clock finds him stripped down to just a pair of briefs, back against the mattress, knees pointed at the ceiling, heart fluttering pathetically and cock already hard from the anticipation. He doesn't even allow himself the relief of readjusting the erection inside of his underwear; he just lies very still.

He can't stop thinking about Kurt. He's waited weeks for them to have the privacy they need to go farther; it's the topic of every filthy whisper that Kurt gasps against his skin when they're frantically tearing at each other's clothing in hallways and bathrooms and closets. More importantly, t's the ultimate expression of a submissive's ability to give over their body to their dominant. It's—a big deal for Blaine, and the fact that it's going to be Kurt and not Sebastian makes him giddy with relief.

Kurt locks the door behind him and Blaine hears him place several items on the nightstand. He shrugs off his blazer and grins, sliding across the bed and straddling Blaine's waist. "God, I missed you," he breathes, taking Blaine's face in his hands and tipping their mouths together wetly.

Blaine melts—the world is set right by Kurt on top of him, Kurt taking his mouth, Kurt's adoration rolling off of him in waves, sending Blaine's hormones (teenage and submissive alike) into a spiral. He doesn't say anything when the kiss ends, which prompts Kurt.

"You can speak."

Blaine smiles. "Me too." He stares up at Kurt's unguarded, excited face, and exhales. He feels almost lost when they are like this together; he can't adequately express how Kurt makes him feel and it drives him crazy. Kurt kisses him, simple hot kisses with his fingers in Blaine's gel-sticky hair, for a long time, no discussion and no wandering hands. It's nice to just relax for once; there is a locked door, no chance of bed checks at this time of day, and the promise of no "friendly" interruptions.

Blaine's head goes a bit fuzzy when Kurt's tongue gets involved. He's hopeless at controlling the noises that start coming out when Kurt licks into his mouth or bites his lip or sucks his tongue. 

"We can just do this if you're not ready," Kurt says, hot and heavy across his cheek. "What do you really want, honey?"

"I want you," Blaine whimpers, hips squirming; Kurt hasn't even pressed down against him and he's been hard on and off now for at least an hour. "I want it to be you and I want it to be now, is that...?"

"God yes," Kurt moans, kissing him.

Once the idea has taken root it won't let Blaine go, and he knows that it's all wrapped up with his submissive needs and logically it's—there, all there in the science, but there is just nothing logical about the way that his hips won't stop moving and Kurt's hands on his body just aren't enough. There's no logic to the urgency in his belly when Kurt slides down his body and mouths at him through his underwear, no logic when Kurt peels the sweat-blotted underwear off his legs.

He still has his feet flat on the bed and his knees up, and then Kurt just sort of nudges and he spreads his legs, and it feels so good to do that that he moans, his back coming up off the bed, and Kurt kisses at his thighs and balls and cock with frantic, wet presses.

"God, Blaine," Kurt growls. He almost never vocalizes and that, that is just—

Blaine can feel the submissive hormones buzzing beneath his skin like angry flies. He gasps, face burning, body aching and empty. " _Please_ ," he gasps. It—almost hurts. He's half way to freaking out about this when Kurt takes his hands and pushes them down into the bed.

"Breathe. Breathe, it's okay. It's—this is okay, Blaine."

"Please please, need you—"

"Shhh. I know, baby. I know." Kurt takes the lubricant off of the nightstand and subtly squeezes out a handful. He takes Blaine's cock in that hand, murmuring nonsense as he spreads it around. Blaine listens to the wet, rapid squelching as Kurt's hand strokes him. Even the simple sight of Kurt's beautiful fingers wrapped around his cock is making him want to _beg_. "So good for me, so hard."

Blaine whimpers. The lubricant is cold at first then warm and sticky and everywhere, between his thighs and dripping down his balls and stuck in his pubic hair. Blaine gasps into the haze that has risen up around his coherent thoughts.

"Can you keep your hands where they are for me? Can you do that?" Kurt's fingers are stroking the skin just under Blaine's balls, and it feels like electricity shooting across Blaine's body. 

"Yes, Kurt. _Please_."

Kurt doesn't rush, despite everything; his fingertips are firm and sure where they are, and each stroke against that spot makes Blaine's pelvis twitch, and then Kurt's fingertips slide down and the pads of them press against Blaine's hole, and Blaine sobs. His forearms twist but he keeps his wrists on the bed.

Cold lubricant again, and Kurt's fingers gently stroke and push and stroke and push, and Blaine's muscles tense up with wanting. "Take a breath and let it out as I push in, okay, honey?"

And that's good, that's—that works so well, Blaine feels his muscles unclench as his breath leaves him and the motion of exhaling seems to help. Kurt's long, slender middle finger pushes inside.

"Oh _please_ ," Blaine whimpers.

Kurt twists the finger slowly in and out, in and out. Blaine spreads his legs as wide as they'll go. "Press down into me." His voice is shaking.

"Oh—oh _Kurt_ —"

Another finger, and the stretch burns, but the burn makes the aching discomfort go away, and Blaine is suddenly and completely _starving_ for it. Kurt gasps, as if he knows, as if he can sense it, and that drives Blaine _crazy_.

"Blaine," Kurt gasps, and the fact that he sounds out of it makes Blaine _writhe_. "Blaine are you—"

"Put your cock inside of me—" 

There is a rustle of fabric and somewhere in the back of his addled brain Blaine remembers that Kurt hasn't even taken his clothes off. He just undoes his belt and fly and pushes his underwear down and—

"Oh, god, yes, take it out and fuck me please—"

Kurt lifts Blaine's hips and nudges up under them, and Blaine feels the cool touch of lubricant again and then Kurt's cock, blunt and hard and so fucking big, pushing against his hole.

"Talk to me," Kurt gasps.

"I'm fine I'm—I just need you okay, just, can't talk anymore I—just _do it_ please."

He feels his pelvis pushed upward as Kurt leans all of his weight forward and sinks inside. Blaine's fingers close around the bedspread and he chokes out a breath or two and then Kurt goes still, and then he exhales and twitches, feeling the spasm make his thighs and belly cramp. It feels like nothing else ever has; it feels right, as if his body has been waiting for this for longer than even he can remember.

"Touch yourself," Kurt rasps, biting at Blaine's bent, hairy knee. "Don't wait. Don't wait if you don't want to. I can feel it, I can feel how badly you—need it—Blaine—oh my god that is—" He stops and starts, _shaking_. "Can feel your heartbeat and—so tight—god, so hot for me—Blaine."

Gasping, straining, Blaine fists himself—all he can feel is Kurt's thick cock filling his body, stretching him open—and comes hard and fast, legs instinctively locking around Kurt's still-clothed torso as he fucks himself down roughly onto Kurt's cock. He babbles nonsense as the come falls across his skin.

He gazes blearily up at Kurt, sweet completion singing so loudly in his muscles that he's surprised that they don't complete a perfect two part harmony. "Oh, oh god—" His cock is still twitching and spitting beads of come. But it's not right, it's not _done_. "Come inside of me," he whimpers. "Come in me, Kurt, come on."

Kurt whimpers, bending over Blaine's body to kiss him roughly. His pelvis stutters, pounds forward half a dozen times and he sobs into Blaine's mouth, biting Blaine's bottom lip as he comes. 

The sensation of Kurt's fully clothed body against him that excites Blaine to a degree that he doesn't quite understand. There's just something about Kurt's clothing rubbing up against his sweaty, come-stained skin, pants hanging open just enough to fuck him, that drives him absolutely insane.

They're both shaking. Blaine wants to hold him, but refuses to move his hands without a command.

"Oh my god," Kurt laughs, shocked and spent. "Blaine, I—are you okay?"

"I am better than okay," Blaine pants.

"That was—amazing."

"I mean, I sat through those boring videos in D/S ed like everyone else, but—"

"God, I know."

"I think you've ruined your clothes."

"Worth it." Kurt kisses him, giggling. "So worth it."

 

*

 

"Blaine," David calls, jogging across the courtyard.

"Hey."

"You may want to find Kurt," he says, looking flustered.

Blaine's chest contracts. "Why, what's up?"

"He and Sebastian—it isn't pretty, let's just say. They've been with the Headmaster all morning."

"Oh, geez," Blaine exhales, shrugging his bag higher on his shoulder. "Thanks." He makes his way toward the administrative wing and sure enough, Kurt is pacing outside the Headmaster's office with a blood-stained rag stuffed under his nose.

Kurt's eyes widen. "Blaine. You have to go, now."

"Kurt?" The command hurts.

"I'll explain later. Please. Go."

It's not until hours later that Kurt finds him, and then only through a friend that leads Blaine to a room that he's never been inside of and leaves him in the dark for far too long.

Kurt slides in through a side door, looking terrified, which of course makes Blaine want to throw up.

"Are you—going to be expelled for fighting with Sebastian? Did you fight with him? How did this happen?" he asks, reaching out as Kurt reaches for him. 

Kurt exhales against his hair. "He knows. He caught us leaving a classroom—maybe weeks ago. He has video on his phone, he has us talking about—us. He—tried to threaten me with it, told me that if I didn't stop seeing you until your contract is up that he'd go to the Headmaster with the video and have us brought up on disciplinary charges. I pissed him off. He punched me."

Blaine sags with relief. "That's—insane, but at least you didn't get expelled and he didn't say anything, right, he didn't tell...?"

Kurt's face tells him that it's not good. "Blaine, I—Sebastian told me that if I don't drop out of Dalton he would report us. He would—report _you_ for breaking your contract with him. I don't care about my record, and my family wouldn't care, either, they know about us already, but—I can't do that to you, Blaine. Your family would be devastated and I can't—I _won't_ let your future be destroyed because of me." He shudders. "I don't want to keep running from bullies. But this isn't about me running; it's about your life. He could _ruin_ you."

"No, Kurt, no, you can't—"

"It's already done." Tears crawl down Kurt's face. "I'm back at McKinley as of Monday."

Blaine can't think for the space of one heartbeat, and then before he can even put together words he's on the carpet on his knees. "Please. No. No." He feels as if he's outside of his body, watching this disaster from across the room. He can't breathe. He can't feel. The panic attack is instant and undeniable.

"I won't destroy your life," Kurt whispers, shaking, crying, and Blaine has never seen him so out of control and it makes him want to _run away_. He can feel the edges of his world, which Kurt has so easily defined these many months, wobble and tilt. "I—I love you, Blaine. Do you understand that? I love you so much that I feel like being sick every minute of the day. I love you so much that I can't _breathe_. I don't—I'm _in_ love with you, too, and there's a difference and it's—insane, it's everything, because I love you in every way that it's possible to love someone and you're—still not mine. I can't ruin you just because you aren't mine. We can't—see each other anymore."

Blaine sees spots behind his eyelids and he wavers on his knees. His hands touch the floor just to keep his body from completely collapsing. He's going to pass out and he knows it and it's terrifying.

Kurt grabs him to keep him from falling. "Blaine, please. _Please_ understand."

"This isn't just about you, Kurt," he says, voice dead and empty, to the lovely carpet just under his nose. "I—I did this, too. I knew what I was doing. Let me—let me tell someone, let me do something, take some responsibility—together we can do this, we can make it okay, I know we can."

"What good am I if I can't protect you from this? What is the point of me if I can't give you what you need?" Kurt spits brokenly, as if everything that Blaine is saying is besides the point. "Let me—let me take you to the nurse. Please. I can't—I have to go."

 

*

 

Blaine stays in the infirmary for two days. The first day he sleeps a lot, and the second day he feels sorry for himself a lot, and then his mother comes that evening and takes him home for a week and he tells her everything.

She doesn't say much. She brings him tissues and ice cream and tomato soup and grilled cheese, and then on the drive back to Dalton she says, "He did the right thing. He—he did the right thing by you, Blaine. That has to count for something."

Blaine wishes that it would but all he can feel is pain, sharp and twisting in his chest like a bullet wound, and knowing that Kurt won't be there when he arrives at Dalton only makes it worse. He actually misses the soul-sucking numbness that he'd felt when this first happened.

Sebastian tries to speak with him in private but he manages to disappear before the conversation can begin. He is still obligated to go to Interaction, and when he does all he says is, "I don't want you to touch me anymore. I don't want anything from you." It physically hurts to say these things to a dominant, but the pain he feels from losing Kurt is so much greater that it doesn't even come close.

A small part of him wants Sebastian to drag him inside the room and punish him, which is the worst part of the entire thing. He wants to be hurt. He wants to be made to feel something, anything, he wants Sebastian to _drag_ it out of him because he hates Sebastian and that hate applied to his body would be perfect right now. 

For the first time he imagines all the instruments and apparel in the chest in the Interaction room that they've never used—the harnesses and bindings and floggers and whips and he _wants_ it, he wants to Sebastian to make him _bleed_ ; maybe if his skin opened up it would hurt so badly that he would stop thinking about Kurt's tear-streaked, broken face for more than _three fucking seconds_.

He wants Sebastian to shackle him and pull his hair and slap him and maybe he would even let Sebastian fuck him, fuck him with nothing but spit for lubricant, fuck him until he came screaming, all pain and no pleasure, because he deserves it, he needs it, he is so fucking broken that he just wants to be completely shattered, and what does it even matter anymore? What does anything even mean without Kurt in his world?

But Sebastian doesn't do any of these things. Blaine hates him even more for that.

"Contracting with you was the biggest waste of my time," Sebastian snarls. "Fine. Suit yourself." And he leaves.

Every night they meet and log their names on the sign-in sheet and then leave each other. It's bound to be noticed after a while, but Blaine can't bring himself to care. 

 

*

 

Weeks later, Wes pulls him aside and takes him to an Interaction room and makes him kneel. He isn't sure how or when, but his friends have always known, though they've never discussed it openly.

"You can have the summer to grieve, Blaine. But we need you to to perk up now. There are people looking up to you. There are people here who _care_ about you. And you need to be better for them, if not yourself," he says, and his tone brooks no argument. It's not precisely fair; it's a common tactic to encourage a submissive who is struggling by asking them to do things for others' sake. But Wes is right, and nothing else has worked so far, so Blaine can't blame him for resorting to this.

Something about his friends rallying around him accomplishes what nothing else could do, so there is logic to the approach, he guesses.

He comes out of his daze and studies his ass off and makes up for weeks of slacking. He finishes with excellent grades (his parents buy him a new car as a congratulations gift) and moves back home for the summer.

And if he's a darker, quieter version of himself from then on no one says a word to his face about it.

 

*

 

The first half of summer passes in a series of endless afternoons and empty, whirling thoughts. He can't deny it; he's depressed and moping and he can't even stand his own company. Even Cooper visiting does nothing to cheer him up. 

He reads. He spends a lot of time daydreaming performance pieces, arranging songs to sing, mentally casting himself in his favorite Broadway plays, and staring at Kurt's name and number in his phone. Life without Kurt is like living with the mute button switched on. The picture is still there, but it's devoid of context.

His gray collar looks strange around his neck again (they'd bought him a new one made by his favorite designer, but he hates it anyway).

One evening he decides to rearrange all of his possessions and bedroom furniture.

He's going through his collection of bow ties (half of which Kurt had bought or made for him over the last few months) one evening with the intention of wallowing in some self pity. He thinks he might even cap things off with ice cream and a viewing of The Notebook, when his father interrupts him.

He can count on one hand the amount of times that his father has come into this bedroom since he hit puberty, so it's an extremely odd occurrence.

"Blaine," his father says, and Blaine stops what he's doing and stands up straighter.

"Dad."

"Have a seat."

Blaine sits on his bed, wondering what this is going to be about.

"The tuition paperwork came through for Dalton this morning."

"Yes, sir?"

"I haven't signed it yet," his father admits, looking at him. Blaine has never been able to make sense of his father's facial expressions or conversational turns, really, and this time is no different. "Your mother and I had a long talk today." He frowns. "We think that perhaps Dalton has been suitable for your junior years...but that you've lacked the social challenge and liberal exposure that a public school can provide. You're going to be a senior this year, and I know that your mother has always had a high regard for Dalton; her father is an alumni, you know. But—after three years—I wonder if you feel the same way?" He clears his throat delicately. "The, um, show choir at the high school in this district seems to perform well. A win at the national competition this coming school year might look very impressive on your transcript. You are still set on performing arts, yes?"

His dad has never discussed this with him before, and Blaine has always dreaded the "I'm not going into law" discussion. He can't wrap his mind around this. He'd had no idea that his parents even discussed his wishes to this degree in private. "Dad, I—why now?"

"You aren't a child anymore, Blaine. You've done well in school and kept yourself out of trouble; if your heart is set on a career in the arts, well then I'll be damned if I'm going to let you be mediocre at it. Win a trophy; star in a damned musical if you must, but do it well and do it proudly. You're an Anderson, after all. And your mother has her heart set on the best seating that Broadway has to offer. Best not to disappoint her."

Blaine laughs, closing his eyes and pressing his fingers against them. "Um. Thank you, I—yes, Dad. Public school it is."

His heart soars. He'd had _no idea_.

 

*

 

It's so tempting, the idea of calling or texting or emailing or leaving a comment on Kurt's Facebook page about his plans to attend McKinley for senior year, but something stops Blaine every time and, as the weeks pass, the time between now and then grows so short that it seems like insufficient notice. So he decides not to.

He and his parents have a meeting with the principle at McKinley, and then the day before school starts he comes back on his own to meet with the Glee club director.

He knocks on Mr. Schuester's door.

"Come in."

He's feeling a little nervous, but he relaxes at the sight of the man's collar. "Mr. Shuester, I'm Blaine Anderson." They shake hands.

"Yep, they mentioned that you might stop by today. Have a seat."

He sets his messenger bag down. "I wanted to talk to you about Glee—and, um. A special request. It's somewhat personal?"

"Uh, sure. Blaine. What can I do for you?"

"I wanted to audition for Glee club today, if possible. It's—not a sub issue, I just—need to be in school tomorrow as a member and I—well." He smiles. "I kind of heard that you let anyone join, so." He doesn't want to say, _because I know that I am talented and you'll want me in your club_. "As for the personal request, um. I spent my junior year attending Dalton Academy with Kurt Hummel, as you know. We competed against each other at—"

Mr. Schuester's face lights up at that. "Yes, I recall, Blaine. Kurt seemed very fond of you. And you guys were great."

Blaine hesitates, nervous again. Mr. Schuester is a teacher, after all, and he might find this completely inappropriate. "I'm unattached as of the end of junior year, and—I want to present to Kurt at Glee club try-outs tomorrow before school." He takes in a deep breath. "I'd like to sing to him. I—don't want to take up your time, but it's—important to me, Mr. Schuester. Kurt has no idea that I'm going to be here tomorrow, and I need to—make myself clear before he jumps to conclusions."

Mr. Schuester is trying to look stern, but the grinning sort of kills that. "As long as there's a song involved, I guess I could make an exception." He smiles, almost as if it's a personal in-joke. Blaine wonders if his students often communicate with each other through song.

"Thank you, Mr. Schuester. And the try-out...?"

"No need, Blaine. We'll just consider the song that you sing tomorrow as your audition, okay?"

 

*

 

Over the second half of the summer Blaine had gone through literally dozens of songs. He'd ransacked his entire digital music collection and the hundreds of CD's scattered everywhere throughout his room and in the house. He'd listened to the radio, he'd polled his parents and Cooper and every Warbler he could get on the phone and over the Internet. He'd rearranged dozens of songs to suit his range and the feelings that he'd wanted it to get across. And one by one he'd discarded them all. 

And then one day he'd been sitting in a local coffee shop enjoying a truly excellent scone and a Chai tea and remembering the first time that he'd met Kurt and the song that he'd sung, the song that had been his way of saying "welcome to my world". 

It's not right the way it is, it's far too up-beat, but if changes the instrumentals—something sweet but with depth, a little melancholy—a piano. Slow it down, break it up, change a word or two and— _piano_. 

Genius.

 

*

 

Choosing an outfit is just plain terrifying until he considers Kurt's appraisal, and then it becomes a task of epic importance. He goes with red pants, a black polo shirt, and a red and white striped bow-tie. He gels carefully, sculpting every wave to perfection. He wears loafers without socks. Kurt had always been amused by his hatred of socks, and though he'd never admitted it Kurt had also had a thing for Blaine's ankles, so all the better.

Still, even with that in mind, walking into the school the next morning through a crush of strangers, all dressed differently and so very, very loud, causes him distress. He has no idea why there are so many people here before the bell, but he hadn't planned on fighting a crowd and he kind of has to hide in the bathroom for a while until his heart stops racing. The dominants feel different here, wild and _everywhere_ , and where he would normally take comfort from conversation with his dominant Warbler friends he doesn't know anyone here.

He hears murmurs about "Cheerios" try-outs in the hallway, and guesses that the crowd has something to do with that. It's all so confusing that he completely forgets his purpose until he's standing outside of the choir room, staring in through the rectangle of glass, and sees Kurt sitting toward the back chatting with a friend.

It's been months since they've seen each other, and just a view of Kurt is enough to make his heart pound and the breath leave his body. He truly hopes that he can keep it together in Kurt's presence long enough to sing this song and do what he intends to do after.

He can feel the matching leather braids (right out of the box) in a pocket against his hip; a collar for him and a bracelet for Kurt. It had taken him hours to pick the braid pattern and he really hopes that all that effort isn't going to go to waste today. 

Looking at Kurt feels like forever. It feels like the most important thing that he'll ever do, and he just—he has to do this right. He has to. He honestly has no idea what Kurt is going to say. It's not uncommon for subs to present, especially at this age, but to do it in public is always a risk. And yet despite the anxiety, Blaine has never really seen any other way to do this. He is completely sure of the necessity of this, if not the outcome.

His ears start to ring when he glances at his watch. He's just on time, and it's— _open the door, Anderson_ , he growls at himself, and even though he can't feel his fingers or hear anything over the roar of his pulse in his ears, he walks into the classroom with his head held high.

Mr. Schuester stops talking.

Kurt's face is completely frozen, and Blaine has to stop for a moment to get over the need to sink down low almost as soon as they are in range of each other. He has to be stronger than that impulse—than any other impulse—right now. 

This isn't just a submissive presenting himself to a dominant today; it's Blaine offering himself to the love of his life.

"Blaine Anderson joined the New Directions yesterday, guys. He has a song he'd like to sing. Let's give him our attention, okay?"

Blaine sits down at the piano—the man that had been occupying the bench gives him a disinterested shrug and mutters something about "hit it"—and opens his music. He takes a deep breath and does not look at Kurt. He's vibrating with anxiety—the Warblers he is used to, but everyone here besides Kurt and Mr. Schuester are strangers, and he wants to hide. He wants to disappear and throw up and he wants them to stop staring at him but—he can't do or have any of those things.

He swallows. Clears his throat. He had originally intended to start off with a few words to put Kurt in the right frame of mind, but now he simply can't. The song is what he has in his mind, and it's the song that will get him through this. Teenage Dream is theirs and has been since the beginning. It has to be enough. He has to make sure that it's enough.

So he sings. The arrangement is heart-breaking, but it's the fact that he can't stop losing pitch and crying that makes the room go silent, and he knows it. He glances up at Kurt at significant intervals; Kurt has two hands over his mouth and his eyes are filled with tears. Half of the class is looking at him, and the other half is staring slack-jawed at Blaine.

The reverberation of the last note out of the piano trickles into silence, and there's a low whisper-laced hush as everyone in the class starts to breathe again.

Kurt is shaking his head back and forth, and the tears in his eyes still haven't fallen. 

Blaine stands—embarrassed to feel how shaky he is—and walks to the front of the room, executing a little bow. "Um. Thanks for listening, guys." He closes his eyes and takes a deep, steadying breath. He'd planned a lot of different ways to deliver this speech, but in the end he forgets everything that he'd intended to say. Singing the song had seriously effected him; he has no hope of remaining cool, calm, or collected through a damned rehearsed speech.

"Kurt? I—well." He motions down at his outfit and laughs. "This says a lot, I guess. I—had so many things that I wanted to say, but now—" He trembles and clamps down on his nerves with everything he has in him. He takes the leather ties from his pocket, feeling them slip in the sweat that now covers his fingers and palms. He looks at Kurt and sinks to his knees on the choir room floor.

Kurt's breath hitches loudly. Several people in the room gasp.

"I'm yours, if you'll be mine," Blaine breathes, unwilling to cry, as he holds out the braids. It's a cheesy, old-fashioned presenting phrase, but he has always loved it and he knows that Kurt does, too; memories of the flailing and tears that he'd always shed when those words had come up in old movies they were watching rush back to Blaine as clear as day.

Kurt joins Blaine in front of the piano. He's trying so hard to be strong, and it's a balm to Blaine's shaky, doubtful soul; it can mean only one thing. Those unshed tears in his steely blue eyes can mean only one thing.

Kurt reaches out (his fingers are trembling, but only Blaine would notice) and takes the collar in one hand. With the other, he tilts Blaine's face upward. He whispers, so that only Blaine can hear, "I will be yours, if you will be mine." His face screws up with emotion.

"Yes," Blaine breathes, relief flooding him in waves. "Yes, sir, I will."

Kurt shakes as he snaps the gray collar off of Blaine's neck and ties the black one on. 

Blaine lies the bracelet out flat across his thigh carefully, making sure that it's perfect. Kurt's wrist hovers just above his face; he takes it in his hand and removes the gray bracelet. He kisses the soft, warm skin of Kurt's wrist. Kurt's pulse flutters wildly against his lips. He ties the braid off, then bows his head over it, letting it rub against his warm and sweaty forehead.

Someone at the back of the class starts clapping and whooping, and then suddenly everyone is. Mr. Schuester just laughs and motions for the piano player to get back to his bench, and suddenly there's music and Kurt's friends are bouncing and dancing all around them.

Blaine laughs, overwhelmed and so happy that he's almost numb.

After Kurt emerges from the pile of people hugging him and messing up his hair and clothes, he takes Blaine's hands and pulls him to his feet.

"Dance with me," he breathes, pulling Blaine in and kissing him in front of everyone.

Mr. Schuester starts to tell them to knock it off, and then just sighs when several of his students chuck paper and pens in his direction.

Blaine grins and lets Kurt swing him around in circles, and the room and everyone in it disappears in a swirl of color and noise.

 

*

 

Sitting through classes on his first day is torture. He wants to pay attention, he really does; but Kurt is going to meet him in the parking lot after last period and that is all he has room for in his unstable brain, which is still in overload from the stress of presenting.

He has the contract paperwork tucked in the back of his bag and he keeps taking it out between classes, reading it over and over again. It's nothing special, just the standard "until the end of the school year" juvenile contract, but he wants the details to be perfect.

He's nervous about meeting Kurt's family, especially considering the split over the summer; will they think he's just troublesome? How many details did Kurt give them about the circumstances of their meeting and their relationship beginning? Will they think that Blaine is a contract breaker, will they judge him before they even meet him? Will they think that he's a spoiled rich kid pursuing their son for the novelty of slumming it?

He paces circles around Kurt's car after school, constantly adjusting his outfit. He feels naked without his blazer or his dress coat, and every time someone comes within ten yards of him he jumps.

Kurt comes jogging across the parking lot and before Blaine can say anything he's thrown himself into Blaine's arms. They fall back against the car and he laughs, burying his face in Kurt's shoulder.

"You are insane," Kurt breathes, clinging to him. "Do you have the paperwork? My dad is going to meet us at the notary."

His head spins. "He—he doesn't want to meet me first?"

"Blaine, he knows everything already. He's dying to meet you but there's no need to wait for introductions." Kurt opens the back door and herds them inside. "Tell me everything first."

Blaine does; it's not easy and he's trembling like a leaf when it's done, but he does, and Kurt's fingers thread through his hair and bring their faces close as he talks, so that they keep kissing in between uneasy sentences, and Blaine's heart knits back together just a little more with every brush.

"Remind me to send a fruit basket to your parents," Kurt sighs, kissing him, and kissing him, and kissing him. Blaine whimpers, feeling small as Kurt's arms scoop him up by his lower back and lay him out across the backseat. His legs wrap around Kurt's waist. He needs to be closer; he only wishes that there were a way he could crawl underneath Kurt's skin.

Kurt lies on top of him and kisses him until they're both panting and grinding into each other. He breaks free eventually, gasping, mouth swollen and red. "Oh god I wanted this to be romantic, Blaine, I was going to light candles and make you dinner and—we're in the backseat of my car in broad daylight. I'm sorry."

"That would involve letting you go for more than ten seconds, so I'm not sure if I like the idea," Blaine admits. "But I really, really want to sign these papers and meet your family. So maybe we should?"

"Yes," Kurt agrees, kissing him. Their mouths hover close, and then he kisses him again, the tip of his tongue tracing the shape of Blaine's upper lip. He hums hungrily. "Damn. Stopping now, okay?"

It actually hurts to separate, but they do. The notary is just a mile or two away from the school, so at least the temptation to stop and climb into the backseat again is taken away.

There's a small gathering outside and Blaine feels anxiety gather at the back of his throat. He starts adjusting his hair and clothing and Kurt takes his hand and smiles, petting his knuckles. "You look wonderful. Come on." They hold hands as soon as Kurt comes around to his side of the car.

Kurt's father, stepmother, and stepbrother are waiting for them outside of the building. Blaine's heart races. Kurt's fingers squeeze his encouragingly.

"Alright, kid. Carole and I both had to leave work for this, so he'd better be awesome."

"I got out of wind sprints in football," Finn says, grinning. "I don't care if he's, like, a serial killer."

Blaine stares, eyebrows drawn together.

Kurt laughs, pulling him forward. "My family doesn't really know how to act human. I apologize. Dad, Carole, Finn; this is Blaine. Blaine, my dad Burt, my stepmom Carole, and my stepbrother Finn."

Blaine wets his lips. He doesn't look down, despite the fact that Burt is a dominant, because he thinks it might be insulting when Kurt is introducing them so generically. "I—it's such a pleasure to meet all of you. Kurt talks about you all nonstop. I'm just—sorry that we couldn't have known each other sooner. There were a lot of obstacles along the way."

Carole beams. Finn looks well-meaning but a little bored. Burt fixes Blaine with a shrewd but fond eye. He takes in the black collar on Blaine's neck and the black braid around Kurt's wrist. "Seems to me you boys are pretty sure of things. So let's take a look at the fine print and make it official, huh?"

They go to a restaurant called Breadstix after the papers are signed and he and Kurt snuggle up to one side of an extra large booth, comfortable because for the first time they can do this in front of other people and it's not only okay, it's _expected_.

"Fair warning? The bread sticks here are awful," Kurt whispers in his ear, taking advantage of the motion to put his hand on Blaine's thigh.

Blaine whispers out of the corner of his mouth, "Unfair."

"I have no idea what that could possibly be in reference to." His fingers stroke up and down Blaine's thigh, his face betraying nothing.

Blaine grins. "I'm going to eat extra slowly just to punish you now."

Burt starts talking to him, then, and he puts all of his efforts into coming off as a smart, capable young man who anyone would be happy to have around their son. He knows that he can get sort of choked up around dominants but there's nothing about Burt that's unsettling, and before long they're swapping jokes about college basketball and Kurt's more obvious idiosyncrasies.

As they walk to their cars, Burt tugs Kurt aside and Carole gently steps up beside him. "How are you doing, Blaine?"

He smiles. "I feel a little overwhelmed. This is—a huge change for me."

"You love him very much. I can see it on both of your faces."

"He's changed my life," Blaine says, feeling his mouth curl into an emotional smile.

She gives him a one-armed, sideways hug. "Welcome to the family, sweetheart."

Kurt swaps places with Carole with a grin, sliding his arm around Blaine's waist. "Well, I just had the most disturbing dom education conversation with my father. We're going to pretend that this evening ended with the cheesecake we had back there, if you're willing to play along with my delusion."

Blaine laughs. "Anything for you. Carole is lovely."

"She is. I'm just glad that something wonderful came out my incredibly creepy crush on Finn." Kurt had told him this story long ago, but it's still funny to think about, especially now that he's met Finn and can't imagine what Kurt saw as common ground between them. "Do you need to go home?"

Blaine had ducked out between dinner and dessert to call his mom and tell her that he'd successfully presented to Kurt and that they'd signed their contract after school (because it had been Blaine's second contract he hadn't needed an adult witness). She'd congratulated him and told him to use the emergency credit card to do whatever he liked. He'd tried to pay for the meal but Burt had insisted on it. He keeps trying to think of things he could do now—offer to take them all to the movies or out shopping or something. But they don't seem to expect anything of him.

"I'd love to spend the night with you," he says, finally, looking down at his shoes as they walk to the car. "I don't care what we do. I just want to keep touching you and listening your voice."

"My dad doesn't mind if we're alone together," Kurt says, rubbing his thumb back and forth over the back of Blaine's hand. "It is official now."

Blaine smiles, gently pulling Kurt to him by the front of Kurt's shirt. They're on the opposite side of Kurt's car now, and out of sight of the departing family. "Can you just take me somewhere quiet and dark and warm and kiss me until I forget the last couple of months?"

Kurt grins, tracing Blaine's cheeks with his fingers. "That sounds like heaven right now."

They go back to Kurt's house because the thought of being somewhere sterile like a hotel room holds absolutely no appeal for either of them. Kurt's stepbrother goes back out immediately to be with his girlfriend and Kurt's parents retire quietly without saying anything more than goodnight.

Kurt's basement room is more than private enough, and it's a thrill for Blaine to smell him on everything, to explore his knick knacks and clothes and look at the pictures on his walls, to just soak him in without having to ask any questions. Just being in Kurt's personal space is reassuring.

They curl up in his bed and Kurt brings their bodies close together and they do kiss, then, for hours, no urgency whatsoever, just fingers and mouths and tongues reuniting. It's warm and close and intimate and Blaine thinks that he could happily die in this man's arms and have not a single regret.

"I never got to say it back," Blaine murmurs.

"What?"

"I love you. You said it so many times that night but I never said it back."

Kurt is beautiful in the orange lamp light, his eyes so green that it's almost unnatural. "I handled everything so badly. God, Blaine, I'm sorry."

Blaine kisses him, breathing warm across his lips. "I love you. I love you, and that's all that matters to me." He lifts Kurt's arm and kisses the warm, pungent leather braid around his wrist. He can feel Kurt bow his head to do the same to his collar, and something sudden and electric shoots up Blaine's spine.

"Can we get comfortable? I have something that might fit you."

Blaine sits up on his elbow, eyes panning appreciatively down Kurt's frame. "We don't need anything, do we?" He waits for Kurt's cue, but his fingers are already going for his bow tie.

"No," Kurt breathes, eyes dancing. "We don't. Go ahead."

Blaine undoes the bow tie, takes off his shirt, and shimmies out of his pants. Kurt's hand stops him when he goes for his underwear, sliding warm fingers between the band and his skin to push them down himself. Blaine blushes all over, fingertips tingling as he watches Kurt undress and then come back to him, his right arm sliding around Blaine's back and pulling them together.

"I want to—but just slow, like this, okay, just your hand and mine." Kurt's fingers gently circle his cock, still soft. He mirrors the gesture, and they both sigh against each other's lips and start stroking each other.

"God, yes. Want you like this, too. You feel—so good. I missed this. Missed your skin and the way you smell and the way you feel in my hand. Missed feeling so at home with you, just like this."

He loses track of how long it takes, but eventually Kurt is sweating and breathing heavily and rocking into him and it happens so quietly, so forgivingly, a soft, surprised moan and Kurt spills in his hand, wet little spurts all over his fingers. Kurt spreads his come all over them both, and the lubrication eases the passage of his own hand around Blaine's cock, and that's all it takes; Blaine comes with a shudder, barely making a noise, body shaking and thrusting into Kurt's. 

Kurt's face tucks into his neck, and his lips trace a path from Blaine's shoulder to his earlobe. He's panting. "Some nights I couldn't sleep, thinking about you like this. Warm and loose like this, against me. I thought maybe you'd let Sebastian—just out of necessity, and it drove me _crazy_ , Blaine."

"I never did," Blaine sighs as Kurt's tongue traces his ear. "It was difficult to go without it but I never let him touch me again. I—there were some pretty scary moments when I almost did, though. I—wasn't handling things very well for a while there."

"I know how hard it must've been." Kurt smiles. "I bet Wes kicked you in the ass a few times."

"He did, they all did," Blaine confirms, laughing. "They were my saviors. The only reason I even made it, really."

Kurt frowns. "I should have been there for you. Let me me make it up to you, please."

"Kurt," Blaine says, smiling. "We have forever to make it up to each other."


End file.
